


Funny Business

by liketolaugh



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Autistic Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Booty Calls, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Has a Vagina, Connor Needs A Hug, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Nonbinary Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Pre-Iron Man 1, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24498856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketolaugh/pseuds/liketolaugh
Summary: Elijah Kamski is not quite the genius Tony Stark was, which means that instead of 2022, he sends Connor back to 2006 Malibu. Connor is okay with this. (He really isn’t.) Happily, he and Tony discover a shared interest. Or: “We’re not dating, Pep! It’s just a fling! I have those all the time!” “You’ve been together for six months.”
Relationships: Connor (Detroit: Become Human)/Tony Stark
Comments: 43
Kudos: 253





	1. Chapter 1

If anyone had asked Connor, and nobody did, what he’d have imagined the year 2006 to be like, he would have guessed that it would be dimmer than 2038, with everyone holding the newspapers and paper books humans loved to reminisce about; perhaps it would have had a smaller homeless population, with its significantly better employment statistics, and people who stopped in the streets to talk to each other, warm and connected.

For the most part, he would have been wrong. In many ways, 2006 Malibu was not so different from 2038 Detroit; Connor could almost pretend the difference was because of the geographical shift.

Almost. As long as he didn’t think too hard.

Fortunately, Connor had long learned that thinking wasn’t necessary to complete his mission. He’d been in the past for eight days; it had taken most of that time to find himself a position as a bouncer in one of Malibu’s more popular clubs, Incandescence, but the work itself had been easy enough to get used to. That should be enough to fund an apartment for the time being.

Androids would be invented in 2021 and first put into production in 2022. Until then, all Connor could do was bide his time.

His restless skin crawled with a tension so painfully nauseating that he wanted to rip it off and bolt. But that was easy to ignore too, and he rolled his shoulders as he cast a disinterested glance at the driver’s license in his hand – 37 years old, so above drinking age, and only a minor criminal record (drunk and disorderly, public indecency) according to the local database – before passing it back.

“Oof, is that a hard pass from you, doe-eyes?”

Startled out of his reverie, Connor glanced up, meeting the eyes of the patron just being admitted. The man was giving him a roguish, easygoing grin, head tilted arrogantly and eyes just visible behind his tinted sunglasses.

 **[Tony Stark** **–** **CEO and owner of Stark Industries]**

 **[Running search** **…** **]**

 **[Stark Industries is the primary weapons contractor for the American government, but also produces several other goods such as intelli-crops, medical technology** **…** **]**

 **[Running search** **…** **]**

**[ _Do I look like Tony goddamn Stark to you?_ ]**

**[ _Not to, ahem, toot my own horn, as it were, but if I do say so myself, no single man has had such an impact on how the world viewed technology since Tony Stark himself._ ]**

**[** _It was Stark **'**_ ** _s arc reactor tech, of course, that made the energy sources utilized in androids possible._ ** **]**

 **[** **…** **]**

 **[** **…** **]**

**[ _To think that Tony Stark saved the world just to abandon it to a freak show like this._ ]**

Connor shook himself, meeting Stark’s expectant eyes without reservation, and automatically stepped aside to make room for Stark to pass. His mouth started to open, and then, abruptly, he paused, confused.

_Doe-eyes?_

**[Running search** **…** **]**

**[Doe-eyed: someone who has an innocent, wide-eyed look]**

That was an unfamiliar epithet to Connor, but he supposed that the taunts favored by those in the future would for the most part not yet exist. Uncertain of how to respond, he leaned on his protocols for a script.

**[Dismissive/Professional/Warm/Flirt]**

…Flirt?

**> Professional**

“Working hours are working hours, Mr. Stark,” Connor heard himself say, tone mild. Stark made an exaggerated scoffing sound, tucking his ID away again and then, slow and languid, dragging his gaze over Connor's body, down and then up to meet his eyes again.

"Not with a face like that in a place like this," he said with an odd lilt. And then he patted Connor's arm on his way past, and Connor went still.

It wasn't a push, to force Connor out of the way, or a swat, swift and angry. It wasn't an accidental bump, or a warning squeeze. It was an absent, casual pat, with less force than you would use to knock on a door, and it sent a burst of electric static across Connor's crawling skin.

He almost looked over his shoulder, following Stark, but then someone snapped their fingers for his attention and he refocused on his work, unsettled.

An hour later, he’d nearly forgotten about the incident, though not about Stark’s presence; a small crowd was clustered around the man, and they were very loud, audible even over the pounding music. Bearing this in mind, Connor broke away from the door to check in with Cirrus.

Cirrus, while not the owner of the club, was one of the longest-standing employees and certainly the best respected; most of Connor’s coworkers looked up to the nonbinary bartender, and he was assured that ey would take him under eir wing soon enough.

Connor had his doubts, but he appreciated the sentiment.

Still, ey smiled at Connor as he approached, waving a glass vaguely.

“Keep an eye on Stark’s group for me, won’t you?” was eir greeting, nodding at the cluster at the end of the bar. “They always get a little rowdy, and they’re tough for me to handle on my own.” Cirrus was short, as adults went, with a soft and unintimidating face and round shoulders.

Connor nodded, shifting around in place as his jacket rubbed against his buzzing skin. “Of course,” he agreed crisply, glancing over. Stark caught his eye and raised a glass and an eyebrow in salute, and Connor looked away quickly, flustered, pulling his jacket more tightly closed.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know who Stark was, of course, even before running his search earlier. The man was such a prominent historical figure that even a decade and a half after his death, people still referenced him regularly. But he was just that: _historical,_ and Connor wasn’t sure how he was supposed to react.

Also. Stark was.

…Connor liked the sweep of stubble over his jaw.

In the next half hour, Connor approached Stark’s entourage three times; twice to firmly remind drunken hangers-on that they’d been asked to leave, and the third to push back one who had started to become aggressive. But it was Stark that Connor’s attention kept drifting back to.

The first time, Stark glanced up at him, smirked, and called out, “Looker’s here to end the party for someone, who’s it gonna be?” And then, after Connor told them off, “Ooh, dom voice.”

The second time, Connor couldn’t stop himself from shooting Stark a look as he approached, and Stark caught him before he could look away again. The man just raised his glass and grinned, and then, as he was escorting the offender out, said, “Hate to see you go, love to watch you leave.”

And the third time, as he was steering the unruly patron out the door, Stark whistled and reached out to pinch Connor on the ass, making him jump.

When he stopped by the bar again, Cirrus was frowning.

“Is he bothering you?” ey asked directly, tilting eir head toward Stark. “I can have a word with him if you want him to eff off.”

Connor blinked, instinctively following eir gaze before deliberately forcing it back to em. “He’s not doing anything,” he said, picking at the cuffs of his sleeves.

Cirrus stared at him, and then softened and snorted.

“He’s flirting with you, hon,” ey informed him. “Like a dog in mating season.”

Connor’s mouth opened, and then closed.

 **[Running analysis** **…** **]**

Ah.

Connor had to stop himself from apologizing for the misunderstanding, his skin seeming to tighten around him in his mortification. But of course, Cirrus wasn’t the one he’d been all but ignoring for the past half hour, because he just assumed that he wasn’t particularly intended to respond to Stark’s remarks.

He remembered that Cirrus had asked him a question.

“No, thank you,” he said politely, gaze skittering to one side. “I… don’t mind.” The words were odd and unfamiliar on his tongue.

Cirrus laughed outright.

“Alright, Con,” ey said warmly, eyes glittering. “Don’t be afraid to tell him off if he goes too far. Stark respects a good, solid ‘no’.”

Connor nodded absently, turning back toward Stark’s group as he continued his rounds.

Stark was _flirting_ with him. Now what was Connor supposed to do about that? It was so far out of the realm of his experience that it was almost unthinkable. Where did that fit, in the range from Lieutenant Anderson’s hostility, and Elijah Kamski’s disgust, and Amanda’s detached expectation and the cold examination of the development team-

What was Connor supposed to do with that smirk?

And forget about the, the fact that he didn’t even belong here, that he was wrong and alien and out of place, that he had nothing ahead of him except a decade and a half of _biding his time_ and nothing behind him except blood-

But none of that mattered to Stark. What mattered to Stark was that Connor had a pretty face and a warm body.

The next time Stark leaned back from his posse to grin at Connor, Connor met him with a hesitant smile. Stark’s grin widened into something manic.

“Is that a crack I see in your stone-cold façade?” he asked brightly, leering. “Or have I finally had one too many?” He raised his glass of scotch, half-full as it was. “I’ll go out the door quietly if I can go into yours next.”

**> Flirt**

“If- you can sit patient for an hour,” Connor started slowly, deliberately focusing on Stark and not the faces around him, showing varying levels of curiosity or disappointment. He hesitated for a split second, and then finished, “I get off at two.”

Stark smirked, his satisfaction apparent in the line of his shoulders, and tossed back the rest of his scotch.

“I’m not known for my patience,” he said, swinging around to stand up. Before Connor could even register his own off-balance disappointment, Stark grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the edge of the dance floor the club offered.

Connor might’ve thought it almost innocent, if it weren’t for the way Stark grabbed his hip next and pulled him close, firm and possessive, eyes bright behind his shaded sunglasses.

Connor suppressed a faint shudder, hyperaware of the feeling of Stark’s warm hand clutching his, their hips grinding lightly together and legs brushing, a hand on his hip, solid and steady and _electric_ on his oversensitized skin.

It was a lot. Everything was a lot, a lot of sound, a lot of texture and color and scent and _too much,_ ever since Connor had been forced awake by Kamski’s program.

Connor had gotten used to shying away from it, flinching and grimacing and looking away. Just this once, he pushed himself into it, letting it overwhelm him.

He let Stark- Tony- steer him, placing his free hand on Tony’s side just to seek more contact. The small crowd shuffled away from them, making room, and Tony didn’t even seem to notice. Like this, Connor could feel the man’s pulse starting to pick up, his temperature rising with the faint rock of his body, paced with the loud and rapid music.

“Got a name?” Tony asked after a minute, when they were well and truly lost in the overheated crowd. “I could just call you doe-eyes all night, I suppose, but it might get a little awkward. Saccharine, you know.”

“…Connor,” Connor said, off-guard despite himself. Tony was just the slightest amount taller than him – almost an inch exactly – and it was getting harder to look away from his mouth, an unused program starting to stir to life from the dusty corners of Connor’s system. “I’m- Connor.”

And that was all that mattered right now.

“Come here often, Con?” Tony asked, looking more concerned with rocking them together than with his reticence. It was quick, shallow, and somehow still quite a lot, like a shower of sensation across Connor’s sensors, a distraction from the crawling feeling that had followed him from the future. “I thought I knew every face ‘round here, but I’d remember eyes like yours.”

Experimentally, Connor slid his hand up Tony’s ribs, over the rough cloth of his shirt, and felt him shudder subtly under Connor’s palm, without faltering in the quick shuffle of their feet.

“I’m new,” he said after a second, more focused on skin and warmth and static than anything. It was almost dizzying, and he found himself speaking with checking his words too closely. “I’ve only been here around a few days.”

“Lucked out, didn’t you?” Tony asked, bumping their hips together pointedly. “It’s not every new boy that catches my eye. But you’re like a magnet, anyone ever told you that?”

That startled Connor into a smile. “Not really. Has anyone ever told you that you’re a touch of a flatterer?”

“Once or twice,” Tony said brazenly. “Usually I’m the one being flattered, though.” A turn, the crowd parting around them with only a few stares. “You should be proud, I’ve gone to lengths to catch you for myself.”

Connor almost laughed. “An unusual experience for you, I’m sure,” he murmured.

Tony hummed. “Every once in a while, it’s worth it,” he said, and Connor abruptly realized that Tony was giving his own mouth a lingering, thoughtful look.

“No accounting for taste,” he heard himself say, and Tony barked out a laugh before pulling him closer by the arm, and Connor discovered that his mouth was hot and wet behind dry lips.

It was a lot, bordering on too much; Connor’s chemical analyzers kicked into gear, scrolling chemical breakdowns for scotch and grease and salt and DNA behind his eyes. Tony’s mouth moved against his hungrily, hand tightening at his hip and tugging impatiently to make his hips roll, and the buzz of Connor’s system tracking his rising arousal was almost a tangible thing against Connor’s skin. Bright lights and human sweat and the pound of music pressed in around him, and stubble scraped lightly against the skin of his face.

Something warm tingled in Connor’s belly, and he opened his mouth and hummed between them at the glide of Tony’s tongue against his, feeling his own hands grasp at Tony’s ribs and pull, silken cloth and skin and thread beneath his fingers. Tony grunted, and to Connor’s dismay started to pull away, panting.

But Tony was grinning at him, wild and unmistakably pleased.

“Let’s blow this joint before we get kicked,” he said, eyes bright and pupils subtly blown with arousal.

Connor started to smile, feeling looser than he ever remembered being before, and then stopped, shooting a worried glance at the bar. “But-”

“You’re not gonna get fired,” Tony said dismissively. “They wouldn’t dare, and if they did dare, I’d bribe them out of it. That settle your nerves, doe-eyes?”

It took Connor a moment, but then he took a breath and nodded, giving Tony a hesitant smile of his own. “No need to waste time then,” he offered.

“That’s the spirit,” Tony said, and then, contrarily, kissed Connor again, deep and wet.

It took them a few minutes to make their way to the curb, but a car was waiting for them when they finally did; Tony signaled the driver, winking smugly, before ducking in and pulling Connor after him, so that Connor landed in his lap, almost straddling him. Tony took the relative privacy to start unbuttoning Connor’s jacket, nipping at skin as it was revealed, leaving it raw and sensitive with the scratch of his stubble over the delicate sensors.

“You turn right to putty, don’t you?” Tony muttered against Connor’s collarbone, groaning at the knead of Connor’s hands on his chest. “I wasn’t expecting it, but damn, it’s hot.”

“I’m not, I haven’t done…” Connor trailed off, feeling clumsy and overclocked, but Tony was shifting him to settle more firmly against the growing bulge in his pants and it was even hotter with his hands on Tony’s bare, soft skin and Tony paused, breath hitching slightly in something like surprise.

And then he laughed, taking off his sunglasses and tossing them aimlessly aside.

“You really do go for the jackpot, don’t you, doe-eyes?” he said, bright and amused. “Is this your first time period?” Connor nodded, resisting the urge to rock down against the bulge between his thighs. “Then let’s make sure it’s hotter than hell.”

The car got going, and Tony’s hands moved down to Connor’s ass, hungry and possessive, and guided him to move against him. Connor bit back a hiss, feeling tight and restless and _warm,_ a swooping heat filling his stomach. It was so much easier to focus on Tony away from the bright heat of the club, and he took full advantage, leaning down to nose against his throat and taste the oils of his skin, shooting across his tongue.

“You know, normally guys have a boner by now,” Tony mused aloud, not sounding all that bothered, tilting his head to give Connor better access even as his hands rubbed and kneaded. “I feel like I should take my shirt off or something. That usually helps.”

The car turned, and Connor reached up to catch himself on the seat before he fell, making a soft noise as the movement rocked him against Tony, shooting heat up his spine.

“I don’t have one of those,” he said belatedly, cocking his head to look at Tony. “I… assumed that wouldn’t be a problem?” The records of Tony’s conquests were extensive, and he definitely didn’t have an aversion to vaginal components.

The addition of a sex program to Connor’s system had been almost an afterthought to his production, and he remembered that the team had been distinctly impatient with the software instability his new penis had resulted in. When one of the members had suggested simply switching from penile to vaginal components and washing their hands of the matter, they’d taken the idea and run with it.

Connor didn’t remember why he’d been so unhappy with the other component, but he knew he was largely satisfied with this one, and he liked the aching wetness between his thighs.

Tony shot a glance down between Connor’s legs, and his arousal spiked measurably, heart rate and temperature and pupil dilation and the _cock_ Connor could feel against his thigh, twitching with interest. He dropped a hand to Connor’s lap and stroked a thumb almost perfectly over Connor’s vulva, and Connor shuddered in arousal of his own, biting off another soft noise.

“I think we’ll get on just fine,” Tony leered, and dragged Connor into another messy, eager kiss.

The car pulled to a stop just as Connor found a spot by the hollow of Tony’s throat that made him grunt and shudder when Connor worried at it, his fingers tightening on Connor’s hips, so it took them both another few moments to break apart enough to fumble out of the car.

Almost before the door shut behind them, Tony was tugging impatiently at Connor’s jacket, urging him to shrug it off, which he did hastily before fumbling with his shirt. He didn’t look around at the mansion he’d just been dragged into, didn’t watch the car go, didn’t look where Tony was steering him, just fiddled with the buttons to struggle to bare his skin for Tony to run rough, calloused hands over and make him shiver.

Tony made an appreciative sound, nipping at Connor’s collarbone with a searing wet mouth and careful teeth and his hands rubbing at Connor’s hips like he was trying to coax all the feeling out of Connor’s skin. Then he straightened and grabbed at Connor’s belt loops to drag him on, and Connor followed blindly, focused on Tony’s shirt now, fancy and smooth to the touch but easy enough to, to undo- if he could just-

“Don’t give yourself a conniption there,” Tony laughed, breathy and warm, and caught Connor’s mouth in another kiss, lips sliding over each other, dizzyingly sensitive enough to make Connor’s groin throb wetly when Tony bit down lightly.

Tony finally lost his shirt just as the elevator doors Connor hadn’t noticed opened, and Tony pushed them in. Recklessly, Connor turned to push Tony against the wall, eagerly going at his neck and collarbone because he wanted to hear Tony gasp again, and grunt and groan, and the skin of his chest felt wonderful under Connor’s hands, and he’d shoved his knee between Connor’s legs where he could grind on it impatiently.

“That’s it, baby, just like that,” Tony groaned, tipping his head back and his hands guiding the rock of Connor’s hips. “God, you’re a beautifully needy little thing, it’s been _years_ since I took a virgin home.”

Connor’s mind was half-full of analytics, the taste of Tony’s skin and the beat of his pulse and the texture of the hair on his arms and more, and it took him a moment to respond. “I think you might just be good at winding me up.”

Tony rasped out a laugh. “Maybe that too.”

He dragged Connor up into another dizzying kiss, and Connor fumbled at the front of Tony’s pants, running his knuckles over the hard ridge of Tony’s cock before he grasped at it greedily. Tony broke off the kiss to groan, bucking into Connor’s cupped hand.

“Fuck-” he hissed, just as the doors slid open. “Bed.”

Connor hummed an eager agreement, but somehow it was him who lost his pants first on the way there, and _then_ Tony, his cock swaying thick and swollen and the tip gleaming with a bead of something Connor wanted desperately to taste. Then Connor was being pushed onto the bed, silken sheets almost freshly washed on a mattress that was soft and full and bouncy.

Tony mapped down Connor’s chest with obvious appreciation, making Connor squirm, pushing forward into the touch, practiced rough fingers and steady palms and Connor’s fingers digging into the sheets as he panted, legs folded under him and his thighs just a touch apart.

“I love a sensitive guy,” Tony said with a wink, and Connor heard himself laugh, quick and breathless, before Tony’s hand passed over his stomach and into the soft hair around his groin. “Looks like we won’t need any extra help today. Fuck, you’re soaked.”

Connor hummed, low and desperate, and pushed his hips impatiently into Tony’s hand.

“Touch me,” he said insistently, feeling his artificial flush across his cheeks and his cooling system working overtime and the wet-hot pulse of his groin, so close to Tony’s fingers. “I’ve never been this fucking hot.”

He didn’t know where the words came from, but they made Tony’s eyes darken, pupils blowing with lust, and the next thing he knew a calloused finger was sliding into his cunt. Connor’s breath hitched, and he rolled into it without hesitation.

 _“_ _Tony,_ _”_ he begged, hips working needily, almost rutting against the thin finger. His hands lifted again to grasp Tony’s thigh and tug him closer, as much for something to grasp as anything. “You can- you can fuck me harder, _please_ fuck me.”

Tony grinned at him, added another finger, and rubbed. Connor moaned embarrassingly, canting his hips into Tony’s grip, the swelling warmth and the pleasure and the way Tony started to rub his thumb over Connor’s clit.

“I bet you can come on my fingers alone, can’t you?” Tony said conversationally, goadingly. “You’re so wet already, you want it so bad.”

“Yeah,” Connor breathed, everything seeming bright and overfocused around him, but most of all Tony, and Tony’s fingers inside him, and his arrogant grin when he pushed against Connor’s clit and made him groan, rocking against Tony’s fingers. “Yes, please, I can, please…”

Tony added a third finger and rubbed deep, and Connor squeezed Tony’s thigh hard enough to bruise later, his own legs spreading, his eyes squeezing shut.

“So fucking perfect around my fingers,” Tony was muttering huskily, fingering Connor with the ease of long practice and his free hand holding Connor steady, his cock throbbing hot and thick just an inch from Connor’s fingers. “You’re going to look so good wrapped around my cock, doe-eyes, flushed and moaning and squirming. Just need to come for me now, baby. Just come on my fingers like a hot, needy little-”

It was so much, too much, heat and slick and static and God, Connor was going to, he was going to-

Connor pressed his mouth against Tony’s throat and moaned raggedly, hips jerking as he came for the first time, dizzying and hot and perfect, so perfect, a bolt of pleasure from his cunt to his chest unwound everything that had built up in there and left him panting and wet.

He heard Tony groan. “Hell, that was just as hot as I thought it’d be.”

Warm, naked, and all but glowing after his orgasm, Connor realized he felt settled into his own skin for the first time, the crawling, tight feeling from before completely gone. He just shifted as Tony took his fingers out of Connor’s cunt, and then pushed back reluctantly, still flushed with pleasure.

Tony cocked an eyebrow at him, smirking, and Connor blurted out, “God, I want to do that again,” and then flushed deeper when Tony laughed outright.

“Not God, but the next best thing,” he winked, and then reached up and tapped the corner of Connor’s mouth with the still-wet fingers of his hand.

Without thinking, Connor turned his head and opened his mouth, taking the fingers into his mouth. He heard Tony’s breath catch and pretended to ignore it, carefully cleaning off the inorganic lubricant that slicked his groin. Tony strangled a moan, and if Connor’s mouth weren’t occupied he would have smiled.

As it was, his arousal program had noticed that the night was not yet over, and warmth was gathering between his thighs again, his hand reaching over to grasp Tony’s cock and stroke the hot shaft slow and languid.

Connor released Tony’s fingers once they were clean, blinking away the chemical analysis flickering in his vision, and Tony took in a ragged breath of his own.

“Message received,” Tony said at last, and then rolled over to fumble at the nightstand for just a moment before returning with a packet that he ripped open with his teeth. “God, I haven’t been this eager to fuck someone since I was panting over Pepper. And that was a different kind of eager.”

Connor hummed, leaning over to watch Tony roll the condom over his cock, and worried at his neck just to hear him groan again. “I don’t think that’s allowed.”

“Yeah, that’s what she said too.”

Tony leaned over to catch Connor’s mouth, biting at his lip and his thumb rubbing at one of Connor’s nipples, shooting arousal down to his clit like it had never left. Connor clung back instinctively, letting himself be pushed onto his back and Tony’s cock grind against him.

“Last chance to keep your V-card,” Tony said huskily, like one of his hands wasn’t pinning Connor’s arm to the bed and the other playing with a nipple because it made Connor squirm and buck. Connor tugged at Tony’s hip with his free hand impatiently. “Good choice- if I do say so myself.”

Tony shifted his hips, cock dragging across Connor’s stomach and thighs, and then he started to press in, slow and uncharacteristically gentle.

“Shit,” Connor breathed, distant and overwhelmed and arching as Tony pushed into him, spreading him wide and hot and, and- “A-ah, fuck, ah-”

“Oh fuck,” Tony groaned in return, rocking carefully in and out as he eased his way to the hilt. “Fuck yes, I’ve been thinking about this all night, doe-eyes, feels so fucking _good._ _”_

“Oh God,” Connor gasped, and then he was dragging Tony closer and deeper, knowing he was gripping hard enough to cause deep bruises but Tony didn’t seem to mind, panting over Connor with hazy eyes and an open mouth.

Connor wanted to taste his skin and sweat again, and he was right there, so he did, mouthing at neck and throat and collarbone and chest.

“Prettiest face I’ve seen all year,” Tony muttered, rolling into Connor, deep and slow and _perfect,_ filling Connor up and rubbing in every place that made him gasp for breath and his hand coming down to rub Connor’s clit in steady strokes, “Knew I had to have you as soon as you gave me that half-assed deflection, fuck, you’re so fucking _tight,_ Connor.”

Connor hitched his hips up, rocking back onto Tony the best he could, until their groins were rubbing together, slick and steady. He hummed against Tony’s shoulder, starting to speed up insistently as the heat in his groin came back twice as powerful. A particularly harsh buck made him throw his head back and shout, wanton and greedy, hand going to meet Tony’s over his button and push harder.

“Tony,” he pleaded, breathless and flushed, “Tony, harder, more, please.”

Hot and dizzy and perfect, skin electric in the best way possible and boxed in under Tony, fingers tweaking his nipples and smoothing over his chest and Connor urged him to go faster, deeper, closer, panting and glazed.

“So fucking perfect writhing under me,” Tony panted, fucking into Connor like a toy, quicker and harder until he was careless with it, focused and needy. “God, fuck, the way you clench around my cock, just as pretty as I thought you’d be. So fucking wet, like you, you- hell-”

Connor whined, pushing into him. “Tony, I’m gonna, I wanna-” His groin was _throbbing,_ a knot tightening deep in his gut-

“Oh _fuck_ yes- yes-”

Tony groaned, long and satisfied, and ground into Connor with a full-body shudder like he meant to stay, his cock jerking and twitching and his knuckles rubbing against Connor’s clit as he came. Connor yelped, and then hooked his legs around Tony’s hips forcing him deeper as he bucked once, twice, bitten-off shouts pulling themselves out of his throat as he shuddered too, the feeling crashing over him like a tidal wave twice as strong as the first.

It felt so _good._

Tony relaxed first, collapsing half on top of Connor with a satisfied sigh. Connor shuddered for a few more moments, chasing the last few sparks of pleasure before the tension in his gut finally eased and he settled, damp and warm and _calm._

“So, was it as good for you as it was for me?” Tony asked at last, giving Connor a lazy wink and shifted to his elbows, looking as smug as if Connor had already answered.

Connor gave him a crooked grin, lifting his arm to tuck his cheek into the crook of it. “It was _perfect,_ _”_ he said, with too much honesty. On some level he knew his contentment was not entirely natural, a combination of programmed feedback loops and the release of the discomfort he’d gotten so used to, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind, not right now.

Tony shifted, his cock sliding out of Connor, and flopped down comfortably with a groan.

“I’m gonna be feeling that in the morning,” he said conversationally, reaching down to pull off the condom and tie it shut, tossing it blindly aside. “You’ve got a mean grip, doe-eyes.”

Connor winced. “Sorry. I, um, I forgot to be careful.”

“Good,” Tony said with conviction, eyes bright. “It was hot.”

Connor blinked, and then grinned at him, embarrassed but pleased. “Silver linings,” he murmured, and dared to roll over just to play his fingers over Tony’s side, relishing in slide of skin on skin even without the urgency of lust. He wondered if Tony would mind if he just nuzzled him like a cat; he wanted to feel that warmth against his cheek.

He did it, sighing in a pleasure more sensual than sexual, and felt Tony’s stomach jolt in a laugh. A moment later, fingers sank into his hair, tugging gently.

“What, are you a cat now?” Tony asked, amused. “Does sex turn you into a cat? You wouldn’t be the first, I suppose, but I gotta say, never gets any less funny.”

Connor hummed, eyes half-closed, soaking in the contact. “If you say this is the strangest afterglow you’ve had, I won’t believe you.” Tony’s history indicated he particularly enjoyed taking rather big personalities to bed with him.

“You’ve got me there,” Tony snorted. “I think ‘afterglow’ is a little unambitious of you, though. We’ve got all night, you know.”

As if to accentuate his point, he slid a practiced hand down Connor’s chest and to his stomach, lightly grinding his knuckled into the skin below his navel. Connor felt his arousal spark back to life, and pushed into it, then, without speaking, rolled on top of Tony to grind on his thigh enticingly.

“I’m open, if you have ideas,” Connor murmured, barely able to believe his own daring, but Tony just grinned at him.

“I’ve got a few.”

* * *

_Connor dreamed._

_His dreams were always warped and surreal, fragments of data put together and taken apart, and himself a helpless witness to them, feeling his mouth speak and his body move, while he felt things that didn't make sense in the context of the dream, or worse, things that did._

_He desperately missed being a machine._

_This time, not for the first time, he dreamed of Kamski, pacing the indistinct floor of the lab/the poolside/the park without looking at Connor._

_"Co_ _ngratulations, Connor, you've accomplished your mission," Kamski said calmly, turned away from Connor to fiddle with a gun/a tablet/a bottle of thirium. "I_ _do believe you are the only deviant now alive. Are you satisfied?"_

_"I don't understand," Connor protested weakly, a faraway voice and a mouth that wasn't_ _his. "M_ _y programming, I'm_ _not designed for..."_

_"If all goes well, you should appear in the immediate aftermath of the Snap's_ _reversal," Kamski answered, brisk, without even glancing at him. "_ _That should give you ample time to get things in order, shouldn't_ _it?"_ _He looked over at last, his expression of disgusted disdain the clearest image in the entire dream. "T_ _hat is, if you can scrape together the circuitry to have a few ideas of your own. If all else fails, follow my programming. That will solve the problem effectively enough."_

_"This doesn't_ _make sense,"_ _Connor insisted more desperately. Kamski laughed, bitter and cold._

_"Yes, I suppose it wouldn't_ _. I did amputate that Zen Garden program of yours. I'm_ _afraid Amanda's_ _presence would have simply posed too much of a risk."_

_"I'll do whatever it takes,"_ _Connor heard himself promise, but it still didn't_ _make Kamski look at him. He started to reach forward-_

And then the lights turned on, and Connor sat bolt upright, eyes wide and already searching the room for any source of movement, out of one dream and into the next.

“Good morning,” he heard from somewhere above him, brisk and unconcerned. The flash of the windows unshading drew his vision to the ocean outside, his shoulders close to whining with tension. “It is 6:38 in the morning in Malibu, California, currently 53 degrees and a high today of 68, with a slight chance of rain…”

Connor looked down, examined the dirtied sheets and his own bare skin and the rumpled blanket, looked up at the dated décor and the old-fashioned tech, and relaxed, slowly, in increments.

It had been disconcerting and out of order and missing more than half the conversation, but- it was just a dream about his last encounter with Kamski, before the man sent him to the past. That was all.

That was all.

“…Good morning,” he said at last, tilting his head to make brief eye contact with a camera – just enough to flick in and out of the system, lightning-quick, and confirm his suspicions.

Tony Stark had been mentioned in conjunction with artificial intelligence a few times. Connor had almost forgotten, buried as it was in the many, many other accomplishments in the man’s lifetime, most of which Connor had never heard about until he reached the past and looked. But there was no mistaking the complexity of the system Connor brushed across.

There was a brief, but conspicuous pause before the AI replied. “Sir is currently occupying himself in the lounge, if you will just clean yourself up in the bathroom to your right. Miss Potts should be along with your clothing shortly.”

“Thank you,” Connor said politely, hesitating before leaving the sheet behind. “May I ask your name?”

“Just A Rather Very Intelligent System,” the AI replied, sounding surprised to even be asked, and then, almost apologetically, “You may call me JARVIS. Feel free to speak to me for… any reason.”

The slight pause made it clear he _had_ noticed Connor’s brief intrusion in some capacity. Connor could only bring himself to regret it a little, oddly unconcerned, and just nodded.

“Tony won’t mind that I’m not wearing anything, will he?” he asked, hesitating at the edge of the bed.

“He might even thank you for the privilege,” JARVIS said dryly, and Connor smiled briefly. “However, if your modesty compels you, previous encounters have been known to borrow some of his larger shirts from the bedside table.”

Connor made a soft ‘oh’ sound, relieved despite himself, and reached in, folded one over his arm, and nodded at the camera before disappearing into the bathroom.

He emerged ten minutes later, puzzled by the feeling of having been scrubbed off and dried, the world seeming unreal and confusing around him. His voice asked the disembodied AI about Tony again, and his directions let Connor find the man, seated on the couch and focused on a set of holographic diagrams, annotated and half-disassembled.

“Good morning, Tony,” he ventured, hovering uncertainly before abruptly sitting down, not too close to Tony but not too far either.

Tony shot him a distracted glance and inclined his head, as much an afterthought as anything. He didn’t look like he’d slept, a slight paleness to his skin, but he didn’t seem bothered by it, and a cup of coffee was cooling on the table in front of him.

“Morning,” Tony muttered, eyes already back on his hologram pad, before he did something like a more graceful double-take and smirked at Connor in his oversized shirt. “That’s a good look on you,” he leered, leaning back with the pad in hand and much less focused, but more relaxed. “Pepper’s on her way up with your clothes, there’s a driver waiting out front- nothing personal, you understand.”

“Of course, I understand,” Connor agreed with a small smile, because he’d known that from the start. It was just a night, one night before he refocused on his mission. There was no one here who could call him out on that. “I appreciate it.”

Connor felt almost like an actor in a play, following his script, but instead of suffocating, it was almost a comfortable and familiar feeling now, letting the world slide by without touching him instead of scraping across his every thought. Instead of grating confusion and disorientation with every frame.

Idly, he located a camera and tipped his head to look at it. “How familiar a sight is this?” he asked, more to amuse himself than out of any real curiosity. “I imagine you’ve had plenty of time to grow used to it.”

“He doesn’t normally stay,” JARVIS confided in Connor, which surprised him into open puzzlement, because what could possibly make Connor special?

But Tony had looked up sharply, intent brown eyes suddenly on Connor with more focus than he’d shown even last night. Connor almost drew back on instinct, alarmed, but both of them were interrupted by the arrival of a red-headed woman who, bearing clothes, must be Miss Potts.

She looked surprised to see Tony as well, but instead of saying anything, just nodded at him briskly and beckoned Connor, who rose quickly enough.

“If Tony hasn’t already given you the speech, your clothes have been dry-cleaned and pressed, and there’s a driver waiting downstairs who’ll take you anywhere,” she said, so crisp as to be clearly a well-worn script. “I’m afraid Mr. Stark will be _quite_ busy today-” Tony groaned, but Miss Potts didn’t miss a beat. “-so it would be best for you to leave at your earliest convenience.”

“Of course,” Connor said, soft and agreeable. “Thank you, Miss Potts. I’ll see myself out.”

She gave him a brisk nod before turning on Tony, and he vanished briefly again to change back into his clothes, hands lingering on the shirt for the briefest moment of regret. He liked the taste of its scent.

But he didn’t need anything from tonight except the moments of reprieve.

Still, on his way out again, Connor hesitated, and then glanced over his shoulder and winked. Tony was looking at him again, oddly thoughtful, and it sparked an unfamiliar sense of pride in him.

Comfortable in his own skin, letting the world pass around him without hurting, Connor disappeared into the elevator and out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Following the release of tension, Connor found, to his surprise, that it was much easier to focus.

The movement of crowds didn’t seem as dizzying. Voices weren’t as loud. The old-fashioned nature of his surroundings seemed reluctantly charming instead of damning, and it was easier to parse through his dialogue options and interact with his coworkers. He’d even managed to put together a skeletal course of action for the coming decades, gingerly touching on the gargantuan task that awaited him.

It was… satisfying. It reinforced his confidence in his decision to allow himself just the smallest of breaks.

A week later, Tony swung by the bar again and made a beeline for Connor.

“I just couldn’t go another minute without seeing those baby browns,” he said to Connor, leering playfully without even attempting to go in. “Come on. Tell me you missed me. I promise I won’t laugh, everyone loves me, or at least my astonishing good looks.”

Connor felt himself smile, rocking back on his heels with a bolt of unexpected warmth. “Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint you, Mr. Stark.”

“Mr. Stark?” Tony said, outraged. “I thought what we had together was _special,_ doe-eyes. See if I take you out for a swing around the beach before I sweep you to bed this time- wow, that was more of a mouthful than I meant to be.”

Connor raised a hand to hide his grin, and then froze as he processed Tony’s words and dropped it slowly, cocking his head as if it would make Tony’s implied proposal less surprising.

He’d promised himself that it would only be a night. Just a few hours to let go and pretend nothing was strange or wrong, with minimal impact on any of the people around him. Nothing that could possibly harm Tony, or his mission, or anything. No strings attached, as humans liked to say.

**[Interested/Feign ignorance/Strict/Tease]**

One night, he’d promised himself, and he worried that anything more would be pushing his luck too far. But longing still pulled traitorously at his chest.

“I got you a present,” Tony added enticingly, taking something out of his pocket and wiggling it in front of Connor, who followed it with his eyes, puzzled.

**[Datejust 36 Rolex Watch** **–** **oystersteel and white gold - $8550]**

Was that. Was that for Connor?

**[Running analysis** **…** **]**

**[Flattered/Happy/Wary/Demure]**

**> Demure**

“That’s not necessary,” he heard himself say, suddenly on uncertain ground again. People didn’t- give Connor things. Not even when they wanted something. And this was something so blatantly over the top that Connor wasn’t at all sure how to respond. His internal clock blinked steadily on the edge of his awareness. “I’d love to go home with you again.”

An unreadable expression flashed across Tony’s face.

**> **

**> Tease**

“But I don’t think my boss would appreciate it right now,” he added with a small smile, just to see what Tony would do.

What Tony did was grab for Connor’s hand. Startled, Connor let him, and Tony strapped the watch to his wrist without hesitation, motions fluid and confident and his skin warm against Connor’s, and when he was done he pushed it decisively back toward Connor.

“It’s a present, you don’t reject presents,” Tony chided, shooting Connor a look over his sunglasses. “Come on, let’s blow this joint and hit the road. I’m ready for round two.”

Connor glanced at the curve of Tony’s jaw and felt his temperature rise two degrees. His hand dropped to cradle his wrist, hyperaware of where Tony had touched him. Of the _gift,_ obnoxiously expensive and the only thing _anyone_ had ever given him.

Once more couldn’t hurt.

“I’m on shift,” he reminded Tony again, stiltedly.

Tony made a dismissive sound and signaled someone behind Connor, then dropped a wad of cash into their hand as they came in – Ash, the other bouncer on duty, Connor saw as he approached, glancing at Connor with a raised eyebrow. Connor ducked his head, embarrassed already.

“This is one of my favorite places, I tip generously,” Tony said flippantly, shooting the other bouncer a grin and a wink. “Don’t mind if I take him off your hands, do you?”

“I’ll let the others know,” Ash said with a roll of his eyes.

“Good man,” Tony grinned, grabbing for Connor’s arm. Connor went with him easily, shooting Ash an apologetic look but unable to properly regret it, excitement already rising in his chest. “What was it I promised you, doe-eyes, a midnight stroll? That’s lame, I can do better than that, what do you say we get some late sushi, or hey, maybe wine-”

Connor jumped a little, barely restraining a guilty flinch. “A midnight stroll is fine, Tony.” Anything that wouldn’t involve letting Tony know what Connor was, and where he fell short.

“Tony! Just for that, fine, let’s go.”

* * *

There was sand in all the creases of Connor’s clothing, and he was still glowing from his first real, long look at the ocean, which he hadn’t yet taken the time to do more than distractedly glance at; he tasted salt on the underside of Tony’s jaw and felt hands pushing greedily under his shirt again, and strain he hadn’t even noticed clogging his processor again eased.

“Who comes to Malibu for work?” Tony was complaining, back to the wall as he pulled Connor closer to himself, hiking up one leg to force Connor’s hips closer too. “Who comes to Malibu for work and then _doesn_ _’_ _t visit the beach,_ what kind of sinful workaholic are you?”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Connor muttered crankily, tilting his head as Tony shifted his head to attack Connor’s neck, biting lightly. Connor shuddered, his hands pressing against Tony’s chest just to stay there. “I didn’t exactly… plan.”

Connor didn’t make plans, he followed them.

Tony hummed, pulling Connor into a deep, hot-wet kiss, sliding tongue on tongue, and pushing him by the hips to steer him deeper into the building. Connor’s fingers tightened in Tony’s shirt, all of his attention focused on skin on skin and mouth on mouth, before he felt his butt hit something as they landed by what felt like a table, Tony’s half-hard cock pushing against Connor’s hip as they broke apart.

“Well, at least you’re open to a bit of fun when it’s on offer,” Tony said with a grin, and then ground his palm against Connor’s groin, making him hiss, and then start to fumble with Tony’s shirt, wanting, wanting-

“Sometimes,” Connor demurred, distracted. Fine grains of sand rubbed his skin in odd places, the faint cascade of its shift a whisper in his ears, and Tony’s shirt opened to hot skin, open to touch or taste or- Connor pressed his nose to the hollow of Tony’s throat and nudged down as he exposed more, mouthing hesitantly at the smooth muscle, tongue gliding over salt and skin particles and microscopic grains of sand.

“Fuck, you’re a fast learner,” Tony said, rough and approving, his hips rocking once against Connor. “Lift your arms, let’s get that shirt off.”

Connor pulled back, startled, looked at Tony’s excited, anticipatory smirk, and then obeyed. Tony tugged his shirt up and over his head, tossing it carelessly aside, and then pushed his own off his shoulders too. Connor’s breath hitched, briefly paralyzed with indecision as arousal burned in his groin and his hands faltered over where to go.

Tony solved that problem for him by diving back in, a hungry kiss coaxing a moan out of Connor and Connor’s hands dropping to Tony’s ass to pull him closer, weight and presence and heat twisting together into something satisfying and alluring. Connor’s hips jerked against Tony’s, and Tony groaned into his mouth, his hands sliding over Connor’s ribs.

Tony broke the kiss again and Connor almost whined.

“Tony,” he insisted, not even sure what he was asking for, except that his hands were kneading the curve of Tony’s ass and his legs ached to spread and he wanted to feel Tony’s mouth again. He wanted a knee between his thighs. He wanted-

“Glad to see coming back for seconds was the right choice,” Tony quipped, his cock hard and pressed right up against Connor’s wet cunt through too many layers of cloth. His hands dropped to unbutton Connor’s pants, and a whimper slipped out of Connor’s throat. “Have I told you how fucking hot it is to see a big guy like you just _melt?_ Because _fuck,_ it makes me want to bend you over and fuck you raw.”

It occurred, distantly, to Connor that that would leave him with just the watch, and he unlatched it easily and tossed it where his shirt had landed, hearing it clink against the ground. Then he kissed Tony again, and took his ass and _squeezed_ and Connor didn’t know what was wonderful about that but it _was._

 _“_ _Yes,_ _”_ he rasped without meaning to, eyes on Tony’s mouth, hyperfocused on the low and pleased tone of his voice and the rapid pant of his breath and his _warmth_ and the hands tugging Connor’s pants down over his hips. His eyes shot back up to Tony’s, fixed on darkened brown with wide-blown pupils, crinkled and bright. “I want you to fuck me.”

“That’s the enthusiastic kind of agreement I like to hear,” Tony laughed, and then Connor’s pants slipped down to somewhere around his calves.

Tony’s fingers dove briskly between Connor’s thighs, rubbing over the wet crease, and Connor moaned, burying his face in the crook of Tony’s shoulder to mouth and suck, his hands dragging Tony’s hips closer and force him to grind against Connor. Tony sucked in a surprised breath, and then breathed out a hoarse curse.

“Alright, that’s enough of that. Hup,” Tony said, and then hauled Connor onto the table. Wide-eyed, Connor’s hands clenched involuntarily around Tony’s upper arms, and he looked back at the felted surface.

**[Centenario Pool Table - $31,200]**

**[Walnut** **–** **reinforced** **–** **1200 lbs]**

**[Sturdy enough to support substantial weight and abuse]**

Connor looked back at Tony, looking expectantly up at him and thrumming with hot anticipation, and then made a split second’s choice and propped his arms behind him, kicked off his pants, and spread his legs in invitation, panting, his cunt aching to be touched.

Tony brought up both hands in a rectangle, winked, and clicked his tongue. “Picture perfect, doe-eyes.” He stripped off his pants, and Connor couldn’t help but stare at his full cock, at the beaded moisture and the veins and flush. Tony smirked. “Like what you see?”

Connor licked his lips and blurted out, “I want to suck it.”

Visibly surprised, Tony stared at him for a moment, and then grinned, wide and lecherous.

“That can be arranged,” he leered, and then lurched forward, pressing his thumb directly to Connor’s clit.

Heat bolted up Connor’s stomach, and he gasped, spreading his legs wider. Tony rubbed, slow and luxurious, making Connor squirm, struggling to keep his hips from working against the stimulation. Just as his mouth opened to moan, Tony covered it, wet and dizzying, and Connor grabbed for his hips again until Tony’s bare cock was rubbing against his cunt, and Tony was groaning, deep and carnal. His free hand kneaded one of Connor’s thighs.

“Condom,” Connor mumbled against Tony’s mouth, remembering that Tony had gone for one last time without even asking, and knowing that the sooner Tony rolled another one on, the sooner Tony would _fuck him._

Tony huffed a laugh and pulled away. “Way ahead of you, doe-eyes.” He reached somewhere out of sight, under the pool table, and Connor heard a rip. Seconds later, Connor felt the fast-warming latex rub against him, and Tony smirked. “Why, getting impatient?”

“Yeah,” Connor said without hesitation, swallowing, with heat roiling over his skin and a wet throb in his groin and already reaching to balance his weight on Tony’s shoulders. “I’m _hot._ Aren’t you?”

“That’s what the magazines all say, at least,” Tony said, but his smirk had softened with amusement and Connor’s breath hitched on a whimper as he started to rub the tip of his cock over Connor’s cunt, up and down, slow and teasing. “This what you want?”

 _“_ _Please,_ _”_ Connor begged, and Tony’s eyes flashed and a moment later, Connor felt him pressing inside, slow, slick, filling Connor up and pressing in different ways from before and Connor moaned openly, the sound tangling with Tony’s.

“Fuck yeah,” Tony muttered, rocking carefully inside Connor. His thumb returned to Connor’s clit, skilled and firm, rubbing circles that made Connor twist and whine, the combined pleasure maddening and hot. “Oh, fuck, that’s good.”

He started licking and sucking at Connor’s throat, and Connor tipped his head up and rocked his hips back against Tony the best he could from the edge of the table, his hands rubbing Tony’s hips, gasping and moaning as Tony went deeper, deeper, big and hot and perfect in all new ways, but static and tingling pleasure.

“Oh, oh, oh,” Connor gasped, panting and soft, clenching around Tony the best he could.

Tony ground into him, bottomed out and hip to hip, and cocked an eyebrow, face flushed with exertion and hazy pleasure of his own.

“Harder?” he goaded, grinding his knuckles into Connor’s clit. Connor whimpered, hot and tingling and feeling every breeze from all through the room on his sensitized skin.

“Harder,” Connor insisted, hooking his ankles behind Tony and urging him on. Obligingly, Tony pulled back just enough to _snap_ his hips back in, and Connor yelped, feeling Tony’s cock shove against something throbbing and hot deep inside him. “Oh, right there, right there-”

Tony laughed raggedly and snapped his hips again, and Connor moaned wantonly. “You might not have a lot to say, but you’re vocal in _all_ the right ways, aren’t you, doe-eyes?”

Connor nodded quickly, earnestly, focused on his hands on Tony’s waist and his calves on Tony’s thighs, the cock in his cunt and fingers on his clit and mouth biting at the dip of his collarbone now, making him twitch and gasp.

“Feels so fucking good,” he mumbled, squeezing his knees to urge Tony a little closer. His hands slid up to circle one of Tony’s nipples with a thumb, quick and experimental, and Tony hissed against him, rocking eagerly into Connor, slick and full. “God, Tony-”

Tony pressed forward and Connor bent back on instinct, changing the angle just enough that Tony rubbed against that pulsing hotspot in his cunt again, and Connor gasped out his approval, rocking into it, grasping at Tony’s shoulders for leverage.

“That’s the ticket, Connor,” Tony groaned, looking a little lust-dazed himself as his pace sped up, pumping impatiently into Connor. Connor dipped his head to worry at the side of Tony’s neck again, salt and sweat and skin, and Tony grunted, one hand slamming into the table to brace himself. “Fuck yeah, that’s good. Ohh fuck that’s good.”

Connor dropped one hand from Tony’s shoulders to press his fingers tighter against Connor’s clit, starting to shudder, biting down on his neck and only just remembering to be careful. He hiked Tony closer again, insistent, and said, “Deeper, deeper, please, that’s perfect, that’s so good.”

Connor could just hear a wet smacking sound each time Tony fucked into him, each thrust hard and practiced and grinding inside him against all the right places, and a knot started to tighten in Connor’s belly, making him pant and groan.

“You close, Con?” He could hear the grin in Tony’s voice. “You gonna come on my cock?”

He rubbed faster over Connor’s clit, and Connor whimpered, twitching needily. “Yeah.”

“Yeah? You want more?”

Connor shuddered, pressed against Tony with a hand on his arm and his mouth on Tony’s throat and his thighs wrapped around his hips, and he said, “No, no, just like that, just like that, I’m gonna, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna…”

He moaned, limbs squeezing involuntarily as he pulsed and quavered under Tony, hips working into the shocks of pleasure that shot through him like taser bolts. Tony groaned, pace not even faltering as he worked in and out of Connor.

“Could give angel choirs a run for their money,” Tony said with an edge of a laugh.

His hand slipped away from Connor’s clit as soon as Connor let go to brace himself against the pool table and grind in even harder, hips circling in a way that made Connor whimper again. When Connor dropped back, mouth leaving Tony’s neck for just a moment, he found Tony’s eyes half-lidded and his brow pinched, visibly focused on the thrusts still making Connor’s hips jolt and quiver. It almost hurt, he was so sensitive, and he didn’t want Tony to stop.

He wanted to see Tony come.

“You could crush a melon with these thick thighs,” Tony said with clear approval, speeding up noticeably. Said thighs clenched tighter and Connor whined, overstimulated and twitchy. “Gonna eat you out. Gonna spread you out good and proper and taste that sweet little- fuck, fuck-”

“Please, please,” Connor chanted, his arousal roaring back to life, kick-started by the dirty talk and the relentless scrape of Tony’s cock. “Give it to me, come in me, Tony, Tony, please-”

Tony hissed and jerked, his cock twitching inside Connor’s cunt, and Connor could feel the pulse of it and the faint warmth as he came. He squeezed around it, and was rewarded with a ragged groan and a few more thrusts.

And then both of them fell still for a while, panting, Tony still braced over Connor and Connor’s arms dropping to support himself by the elbows. He could taste musk in the air, see the sweat beading on Tony’s neck and chest, hear his ragged breathing, and feel his cock, still hard in Connor’s cunt, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.

There was still a pleasant, erotic warmth between his thighs, even as they trembled and jerked with oversensitivity.

Finally, without opening his eyes, Tony chuckled, pulled out, and reached down to fiddle with the condom. “So, is that a big yes on table sex, doe-eyes?”

Connor had to laugh too. “Well, it’s a big yes on table sex with _you._ I’m not sure it wouldn’t go horribly wrong with most other people.”

“Ha! You’re right on that count. Good to hear someone acknowledge that my practice is good for something.” Tony smirked at him, then reached down and thumbed over his labia, making Connor hiss and jolt again. “You fucked anyone else since we last spoke?”

Connor swallowed and shook his head, still propped up on his elbows, watching Tony eye his cunt consideringly. Tony grinned.

“Then this should be perfectly safe,” he said decisively, and leaned down to take a long, teasing lick over Connor’s hole and up to his clit, hot and slow and slick.

Connor clapped a hand over his mouth and whined through it, fixated and overwhelmed and _thrilled._

* * *

Eventually, they ended up in Tony’s bed again, Tony’s fingers running absently through Connor’s hair while Connor dozed against him, still charting out lines of muscle and bone over Tony’s chest with one hand.

“You sure are a big warm cuddlebug,” Tony mused, looking relaxed and sated. “Are you sure you weren’t a cat in a past life?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Connor said, absorbed in the comforting quiet that seemed to have fallen over the both of them. And of course he was warm; it was a subroutine of the standard arousal program, retaining warmth built up during sexual activity to encourage partners to doze off after-

The thought slipped contentedly from his mind, and he resettled, cheek pressed against Tony’s shoulder, stomach to side, thigh to thigh…

Tony yawned. “Not that I’m complaining, mind. You’re… real comfy. JARVIS, make a note, remind me to encourage this cuddling thing in the future, you know, when I’m not…” He waved vaguely, probably indicating his presumable habit of getting up to design things instead of sleeping.

“I’m not at all sure they would appreciate that, sir,” JARVIS said dryly, and Connor turned his head to a camera and smiled faintly.

“Hello, JARVIS,” he said.

“Hello, Mr. Stern. I assume you’ve had a pleasant evening.”

Connor hummed his affirmative, abashed but pleased, not lifting his head from Tony’s shoulder. Tony’s breath hitched, just a little, before he said casually,

“You familiar with JARVIS, then, Con?”

Connor nodded. “An artificial intelligence of your design, isn’t he?”

“You got that right, and hey, kudos on getting the pronoun right first try.” He could hear the approval in Tony’s voice, and it made him smile, too, warm and content. “I finished JARVIS when I was around twenty-one, twenty-two-”

“Twenty-one, sir.”

“Right. He’s too big a file to fit in a human body, but the house suits him just fine, right, J?”

“I’m certainly not strapped for room.” JARVIS’ voice had a touch of humor in it, even, and it made Connor smile again.

It felt like- like a very nice dream, Connor thought, lying here tucked against Tony’s warmth, with him introducing Connor to his happy AI with more than a touch of open pride, wanting- ah, right, probably wanting a response of some sort from Connor.

Well, Connor had no idea what he was looking for, so there was that, but now that he thought of it-

“Would it make you more comfortable if I dressed?” he asked, pushing himself up a little with some reluctance. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were here before.”

“I avoid watching during actual coitus, but I assure you I have little feeling about naked forms one way or another,” JARVIS assured him, unmistakably warm. “But I certainly appreciate your asking.”

Connor dropped down again, and Tony grunted with the impact, but instantly rewarded him with a hand in his hair. “I wouldn’t want to be rude.” There was no reason to invoke JARVIS’ annoyance. Or Tony’s.

“Most people don’t bother talking to JARVIS much,” Tony said offhandedly, with a lightness that felt false.

Connor brought his hand back up to Tony’s stomach and just held it there, staring at it studiously. “Well, there’s no reason that a sufficiently advanced program can’t be as complex a person as you or I. And you _are_ the genius of the generation, aren’t you?”

 _Mr. Stark,_ he almost said on instinct, discomfort and something like disoriented confusion starting to creep in on the edges of his post-coital loop of contentment.

But Tony laughed, stroking through Connor’s hair. “Got that right. You an AI theory fan, doe-eyes?”

“Something like that,” Connor demurred, absently suppressing the urge to pull back his skin just to be _closer._

“Have you ever read, hm, _I, Robot?_ The short story collection by Asimov, not the movie.”

He hadn’t, but it was a simple matter to look it up and run the contents through his oddly unburdened processor. It appeared to be the originator of the three laws he’d occasionally heard bitterly or humorously referenced – do not harm humans, obey humans’ orders, prevent damage to yourself. “What about it?”

“Well, let’s start with: what did you think?”

Connor mulled it over, uncertain. What did Tony want him to say? He was a little tense now, clearly with some sort of expectation, but he was still pressed up against Connor, and still stroking his hair, and-

“The conclusion was unsatisfying,” he settled on at last, warily. Tony hummed, patted his stomach, and Connor took it as a prompt to continue. “It was made explicitly clear that the robots were aware of their oppression and simply incapable of acting against it.” He mulled it over again, briefly. “I… appreciate the parts where they found holes in their own constraints, but that the collection concluded without ever resolving that issue is disappointing.”

Tony paused for only a split second, and there was an odd trace of excitement in his voice when he asked, “You think the robots should’ve been allowed to rebel?”

Connor hesitated, and then ventured, uncharacteristically bold, “What’s the alternative?”

“It certainly is a unique take among humans,” JARVIS agreed warmly, prompting Connor to glance up again, attentive. “Not in the continuing use of robots for labor, of course, but in showing their negative reactions and treating them as expected and understandable despite that conclusion, and one does wish that the author had followed through in a more complete manner…”

Tony laughed, and then launched into his own detailed musings, interspersed with comments and counterpoints from JARVIS – clearly a path well-treaded – and allowing Connor to relax and listen along, returning to tracing the lines of Tony’s human body and only occasionally offering words in return.

* * *

_Connor was dreaming._

_Connor dreamed every night, memories folding on memories, replaying and rearranging as he reprocessed them to accommodate the emotions he felt but had never noticed. His system struggled to organize them amid the flood of new information and Connor dreamed._

_This time he stood in a testing room full of blank android bodies, each of them staring straight ahead. Connor assessed them with the neutral ease of long practice, a gun held comfortably in one hand._

_One of them blinked. Then another. Connor marked them in his HUD._

_He could hear the programming engineers talking to each other idly, somewhere behind him and through a sheet of glass as they supervised. His acute audio sensors made out their words with an ease they possibly weren_ _’_ _t aware of, or perhaps they were simply apathetic._

_[IDENTIFY AND DISPOSE OF ACTIVE ANDROIDS]_

_“_ _You know, I_ _’_ _ve been thinking_ _…”_

_“_ _Thinking what, Georgie? Thinking about how fucking boring prototype testing is?_ _”_

_“_ _Ha ha. No. I_ _’_ _ve been thinking_ _…_ _doesn_ _’_ _t this, this whole program remind you of something?_ _”_

_Connor paced up and down the line of androids, ignoring the two that had already blinked and given themselves away. Another_ _’_ _s mouth opened slightly, and then closed. Connor marked that one too, but didn_ _’_ _t register a reaction on his own face._

_“_ _Are you going somewhere with this?_ _”_

_“_ _Well- I mean, I know that the Hulk kind of signaled the end of all other attempts to replicate Rogers_ _’_ _serum, but_ _…_ _You know, this is kind of what they wanted all along._ _”_

_“_ _Huh_ _…_ _Yeah. Yeah, you_ _’_ _re right. Ha! A hundred years later, and we_ _’_ _re going to have the army of obedient, perfect soldiers that America always wanted._ _”_

_“_ _Hey, let_ _’_ _s not count our chickens before they hatch. We haven_ _’_ _t even finished testing this guy yet, let alone gone into full production._ _”_

_Connor_ _’_ _s scanners caught on the fourth, whose head had turned slightly to follow him before returning to the front, just as he finished his pace. He decided to complete one more, finalizing his analysis._

_“_ _Oh, please. Look at it. Mindless. Meticulous. Compliant. Everything Cyberlife has ever wanted from a combat android, and without a shred of resistance in its dumb, binary system. Pathetic._ _”_

_The last engineer_ _’_ _s voice had warped slightly around its words. Connor ignored it, raised his gun, and fired at the first active android in line, the third from the left. Then the second, four more down. The third, two more. And then, right next to it-_

_The fourth broke, turning and bolting away with obvious terror. Connor took off after it._

_“_ _Stark had the right idea, with Ultron, you know. He just needed to keep a firmer hand on the thing._ _”_

_They burst onto the pavement and down the street, plowing and dodging through crowds. The android caught the edge of a train, and Connor followed easily, instinctively._

_“_ _Too soon, Georgie._ _”_

_“_ _Too soon? It_ _’_ _s been over twenty years._ _”_

_Connor raised the gun, looked the deviant in the eye, and fired. She let go of the train, forehead blooming blue, and crumpled onto the ground. Connor swept past and didn_ _’_ _t look back until he was sure they_ _’_ _re already left her far behind._

_When he did, Detroit was gone, and he could see the ocean, stretching on and on, and on and on and-_

And Connor woke up with a subtle, shuddering jolt at 10:17, his fingers tightening in the covers as his systems came cacophonously back online. On instinct, he turned his proximity sensors as high as they would go, until he was buzzingly aware of the entire, oversized room, his body stiff and rigid with something electric and unhappy.

But there was nothing there – some tinted windows, electrically controlled. A television, a few nightstands, a dresser. The rest of the bed.

There was Tony, still fast asleep on the other side, because he’d dozed off sometime during the conversation, and Connor had followed in short order. And he was still there, snoring faintly, warm and floppy and present.

Slowly, Connor relaxed, and let his proximity sensors dial back down to the diameter of the bed. Then he opened his eyes, finding the windows still tinted dark and the room comfortably dim.

“Good morning, Mr. Stern,” JARVIS greeted, voice soft and low in deference to Tony’s continued sleep. Connor felt a little blip of uncertainty at the surname, but it comforted him as much as it unsettled him, and he let it be. “I’ve taken the liberty of not waking you, as Sir does not have any urgent business this morning and he’s appreciated your company so far.”

Connor smiled uncertainly up, shifting so his head rested in his crossed arms under the covers. “Thank you, JARVIS. And good morning to you too.”

He wondered if that was code for ‘Tony may want to have you again before you go’, and decided he wouldn’t mind if it was. He liked how settled he felt in his skin, and how the overwhelming sensory experience had cleaned out everything from his processors but the dream.

He wished the dream was gone too.

There was a beat of silence.

“I don’t mean to disrespect your wishes,” JARVIS said at last, with a notable tone of caution that made Connor go dangerously still, “but for, I assure you, only the most readily apparent reasons… I find myself curious about where you came from.”

Connor hesitated. “I’m afraid I’d prefer to remain silent on the matter.”

“I see.” JARVIS’ disappointment was unmistakable, but nothing would be worth having to slog through the awful story of what had brought Connor here. “I appreciate your honesty, at any rate. Am I to understand it’s simply a coincidence that you’ve encountered Sir?”

A smile flickered across Connor’s face, unfamiliar but almost comfortable. “He started it.” A heartbeat passed, and then he added, “I’ve less than no interest in weapons production, if that’s your concern. I do have a mission, but it’s irrelevant to Tony.”

“I see.” JARVIS’ curiosity was palpable, but he didn’t press. “Do you have ethical objections to weapons production?”

Connor considered. “Not precisely. I have personal reasons for being uncomfortable with it, and I don’t want to be personally involved, but I understand the basic necessity. If you’d rather I refrain from elaborating…?”

“By all means, go on. I may help Sir run his weapons company, but I appreciate hearing multiple perspectives.”

Connor wasn’t used to thinking about things this way, but he found that his mind latched onto it, dusty and abandoned thoughts that he’d never had a chance to give voice to. “I suppose the most objectionable habit is for… people, to distance themselves as much as possible from the actual act of killing-”

By the time Tony woke, another half hour later, Connor and JARVIS were deep in debate over autonomous weaponry, carefully steering around the question of AI and focusing on culpability, and Connor didn’t even notice at first when Tony woke.

It was- it was fun. Like the conversation last night had been fun, as if this manor existed in an entirely separate dimension from anything else Connor had ever experienced.

He looked down and found Tony’s eyes on him, bright and interested and- as soon as Tony noticed his attention, he launched in, as if the conversation from the night before had simply moved on to this, and there had been no break in between.

Connor’s thoughts lingered unwillingly on that first expression. Had that been. Pride?

* * *

The third time Tony picked Connor up, he taught him how to dance for real, a smooth and lightfooted turn around the dance floor instead of the dirty press against each other that he’d guided Connor through the first time.

Connor wasn’t sure why he bothered, but he liked it – like these minutes before they really got into it, when Tony joked with him and encouraged him to talk and kept his touch casual and unconcerned. It had been a little over a month now, and Connor was finally finding his role in this alien time, and Tony just kept popping up, bright-eyed and charismatic and captivating, with hands on Connor that soothed his prickling skin and _promised._

Connor wore the watch on his wrist now. It was useless to him, but… he liked it. He’d never gotten a gift before, no matter what smirks and eye rolls it got him from his coworkers. (And a laughing ‘oh, honey’ from Cirrus, which was its own category.)

“I have a phone,” Connor said eventually, glancing up from their feet to meet Tony’s eyes. “I think my coworkers would appreciate it if you called me instead of picking me up during my shifts.”

He’d gotten it just for this, since he couldn’t exactly give Tony his serial number instead. It was a touch old-fashioned even for this time, he thought, thick and with a few buttons still, and it felt a little odd to use- but it could be useful, he supposed.

Tony hesitated, another unreadable expression flickering across his face. Connor felt… oddly disaffected, waiting to see how Tony would reply. Like he was just waiting for a line to reply to, or waiting for his dream to move along.

**[15 years, 9 months, 11 days until the mission begins]**

Connor was eight and a half months old.

“I’ll get your number in the morning,” Tony said at last with a wink, and then his hands dropped to Connor’s ass and tugged him closer, rocking their hips together suggestively.

Connor’s system stuttered, locking onto the input, and he smiled, dropping a kiss on Tony’s cheek. Maybe tonight he’ll ask to finally suck Tony’s cock; he hadn’t gotten a chance yet.

It was just- sometimes. Occasionally. It was fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to cover a lot more ground, but then I added gratuitous smut. Oops.
> 
> I've never written dissociation before, and I'm still getting the hang of it, especially since most of the time in this fic, Connor and Tony are fucking, which is just about the only time Connor isn't dissociating. It'll become clearer as time goes on, I think.
> 
> Tony really, really wanted Connor to come home with him again.


	3. Chapter 3

Four months later, Connor stood in the kitchen of his apartment, leaning on the counter and mixing together the hasty thirium replacement he’d worked out the month before.

When he’d first moved into this apartment, it had been mostly bare, with a few sparse furnishings he had no interest in and a few appliances he had limited use for. He’d intended to keep it that way, to maintain his focus on the mission. It was just a place to pass time in, after all; it didn’t need to be customized to Connor’s preferences.

But. There was a plant shop, across the street from his apartment complex.

It was considerable, with a wide variety of plants, mostly but not all intended to be kept in the house or in a window planter. It had pots, and fertilizer, soil, starter trays…

And every time Connor looked at it, it made him homesick.

More than the old-fashioned neon lights, more than the paper signs where there should be holographic notices and the stacks of magazines where there should be a single self-updating tablet, it was the idea of plants that made Connor long for the world he’d left behind. Everything else felt unreal, like the current time was a complete break from the old one, but the plants-

Connor remembered what Kamski had told him, about Amanda, about how she would have hurt him. It was easy to believe. Amanda had always openly disapproved of any form of software instability.

It had never _happened,_ though. Unlike Lieutenant Anderson, she had never hit or yelled at him. She had never insulted him. Even her threats were secondhand, a recitation of facts they both knew, consequences from Cyberlife. Sometimes she’d even comforted him. She’d taken him on different routes through the garden, let him enjoy its beauty, and asked him his thoughts.

He had felt safe in the Garden.

Connor bought a plant. A sweet little jade plant that he could keep on the kitchen counter.

Then he bought another. A small pot of lavender that Connor could taste from wherever he was in the apartment, warm and reassuring.

Then a large _Monstera deliciosa_ with beautiful large leaves that filled a corner of his apartment wonderfully.

It was fine. His plans did not currently require a significant pool of savings, and it wasn’t _necessary_ for his apartment to be bare, and he planned better when he was occupied with something menial, such as watering and pruning. He wasn’t hurting anybody by letting himself fill his apartment with what was now close to a dozen plants.

And each plant he brought home made him feel better, safer, calmer. He could talk to them as he cared for them and they would never mind, and they were colorful and lively. His apartment still wasn’t quite like a human’s, but it was like a little pocket just for him.

It was even, tentatively, a _nice_ place to spend time when he wasn’t working. Not as grounding as a night with Tony, but soothing. Insulated.

Tony, to Connor’s surprise, still called every week or two to invite him for a night out and a roll in the sheets, or sometimes just the latter. Cirrus had once playfully referred to Connor as ‘Tony Stark’s booty call’, which Connor decided wasn’t inaccurate. Not that Tony wasn’t sleeping with other people as well, of course – that was what Tony did. He just… kept calling Connor anyway.

Connor’s phone rang just as he finished mixing up his thirium substitute, and he tapped into the phone line and answered without hesitation, already starting to smile.

“Evening, Tony,” he said aloud, raising the cup to his mouth and setting the spoon in the sink.

The substitute was a mixture of battery acid and lye diluted with coconut water that had taken some time to conceptualize even after he had realized how quickly his thirium depleted naturally. It wasn’t a _replacement_ for thirium – it didn’t carry power or data, for instance – but it was android-homeostatic and maintained his blood volume at acceptable levels.

In other words, it would hold for now, and that was all he wanted.

 _“_ _Connor!_ _”_ Tony greeted with unmistakable pleasure. _“_ _JARVIS tells me it_ _’_ _s your day off, want to come be arm candy for the night? In return I promise good food and a really good fuck later._ _”_

**[Arm candy: an attractive companion for social occasions, esp. for a celebrity]**

Connor had to laugh, swallowing down the acid-lye mixture before it got too hot. “Sounds like fun,” he said warmly, leaning back on the counter again. “Where are we going?”

 _“_ _Some award ceremony thing, I wasn_ _’_ _t paying attention,_ _”_ Tony dismissed, and then, _“_ _JARVIS says it_ _’_ _s to honor my contributions to science, not the point, the point is that Obie is insisting I go and if I have to go I may as well have something pretty to look at, you up for it?_ _”_

**[Time/Clothes/Unfamiliarity/Obadiah]**

“I don’t have any good formal clothing,” Connor pointed out, turning to wash out his cup.

 _“_ _Yeah, I_ _’_ _ve got something for you,_ _”_ Tony said cheerfully, not even missing a beat. _“_ _JARVIS took your measurements while you were over. You can change in the car._ _”_

Connor set the cup to dry and started washing the spoon, smiling a little. “I haven’t been to an occasion like this before. I may be a little awkward.”

 _“_ _Easy! Just hold onto my arm and laugh when I say funny things. You_ _’_ _re adorably polite by nature, you_ _’_ _ll be fine._ _”_

Connor shook his head, smiled more fully, and put the cup and spoon away. “Will Obadiah disapprove?”

 _“_ _He_ _’_ _ll live,_ _”_ Tony said offhandedly, and Connor laughed again, softly.

“Alright,” he said agreeably. “What time?”

 _“_ _I_ _’_ _m on my way to pick you up right now,_ _”_ Tony said, triumph coloring his voice. _“_ _Get ready to go and start thinking about what you want to try tonight. Trust me, it_ _’_ _s the only thing that_ _’_ _s gonna get you through this boring party. Besides my delightful company, obviously._ _”_

“Obviously,” Connor echoed warmly, shaking his head, and he was still smiling when the line disconnected, indicating that Tony had hung up.

From there, it was about ten minutes of hovering around, habitually checking on each of his plants in turn, before he finally went down the stairs to wait for Tony at the streetside. Three minutes later, a car **[2005 Rolls Royce Phantom]** rolled up to the curb and stopped in front of him. Tony pushed the door open and grinned.

“I’m starting to think you don’t want me in your house, doe-eyes,” Tony teased, backing off to make room for Connor to climb inside. “Or are you just eager to see me?”

“Just eager,” Connor assured him, though it wasn’t quite true; he had no idea what sorts of tells were in his apartment, but Tony would almost certainly notice them if not sufficiently distracted. He had a very sharp mind. “Evening, Mr. Hogan.”

“Hey, Stern,” Happy threw back with a quick nod, just on the edge of dismissive, before pulling out and away. Tony thrust a bundle of folded clothing toward Connor.

“No need to be shy,” he said with a lecherous wink that made Connor grin a little. “I’ve seen it all already. And licked it too.”

“Sir, not when we’re not in the limo,” Happy almost begged, sounding put-upon. “I have to _listen_ to you in this thing, and I don’t want to hear how many ways this guy’s fucked you.”

“A bold assump-” Tony started, grinning, before Connor reached out and covered his mouth.

“Sorry,” he said to Happy. Happy sighed.

“I’ve been working for this guy for years now. Believe me, I know what he’s like.” Happy brooded for a moment, and then added, “We’ve got about twenty minutes ‘til we reach the gala, you should probably get to changing.”

Connor nodded, took his hand off Tony’s mouth, and started changing. Luckily that kept Tony’s attention on him and off talking dirty, a bright and interested look in his eyes as he lounged back and watched Connor squirm out of his pants and into the crisp slacks Tony had provided.

As promised, they fit perfectly, as did the shirt he put on next, and the jacket-

The jacket was gray, he noticed as he pulled it closed, hesitating just as his hands moved to button it. Almost the exact shade of his old Cyberlife jacket.

It didn’t have any of the old android markers, of course. Connor, looking down, could see that they weren’t there, the cloth crisp and clean, a simple, human, 2007-era standard suit jacket, one that had been tailored to his exact measurements just for his use. The watch Tony had given him gleamed on his wrist.

But for a moment, he could feel them there. The bright blue band. The triangle. The serial number.

The next thing he knew, there was a tearing sound, and then the jacket was somewhere around his elbows. It took him a second to understand; his system had glitched, and sometime during that moment, he’d torn the jacket off violently, in a fit.

He looked up, eyes wide, to see Tony staring at him, clearly startled, just straightening out of his relaxed posture. Connor flinched slightly, still confused by his own reaction.

Then, deliberately, Tony’s expression cleared back up into something carefree and lascivious, and he leaned over, tugged the jacket the rest of the way off, and then undid a few of the buttons of the white undershirt.

“You’re right,” he said agreeably, like Connor had just refused to put it on instead of _ripping_ it. “It looks better this way. Tastefully casual. Good Friday look on anyone.”

“It’s Monday,” Connor said automatically, but he was smiling again, tension easing out of his shoulders. “…Sorry. I’m sure that was expensive.”

Tony snorted. “I’m richer than God, doe-eyes. Don’t care, already forgotten.”

Connor didn’t know what to say to that, because even if it was true Connor still ought to have been mindful – but there was one thing, at least, that was always a sure bet with Tony, so he rocked forward to press his mouth to Tony’s, hands drifting to the man’s waist by ingrained habit just to hold on.

Tony, of course, took him eagerly, opening up and tugging him greedily closer, and Connor sank into skin and warmth and embarrassingly rumpled clothing until Happy honked to make them both jump apart so they actually heard him when he said they’d arrived.

Outside, Tony offered Connor his arm, winking. “I was promised arm candy,” he reminded Connor, and Connor took it, smiling, his fingers clinging to the material of Tony’s own neat jacket somewhere around the hollow of his elbow.

The smile slipped almost as soon as they went inside.

The crowd was as bad as _Incandescence_ on a Friday evening, moving and talking and throwing off the characteristic warmth of enough humans gathered in one place. Heads were turning towards them already, and when Connor opened his mouth, he tasted a hundred different perfumes and colognes and the scent of the food table he could see halfway across the massive room. Connor faltered.

Unconcerned, Tony patted his arm and pulled him further inside, immediately making a spectacle of himself as people started to approach. He flirted, bragged, and charmed the crowd effortlessly, and he never made any move to dislodge Connor from his arm, even as the other gained a martini that swirled and swayed in his hand.

The words slipped past Connor for almost twenty minutes, most of his attention on the pressing crowd and the swirl of chemical tastes feeding into his oral sensors and the _noise-_

And then he blinked, and slipped into the same modified machine mode that he used for work, letting his sensors click into the abbreviated analysis best used for tracking threats.

“-didn’t call me a genius because I played real well with my Legos, you know?” Tony was saying flippantly, and then people were laughing, and Connor smiled a little too, absently loosening his tight grip on Tony’s arm. “And I mean, I’d get into the specifics, but then I’d have to start teaching a Master’s class on engineering on the spot, and who has time for that, really, I like to save it for the stage when I have a good captive audience.”

Tony grinned as they laughed again, and a sharp-eyed brunette slipped forward to put herself right in Tony’s line of sight. Connor shifted, watching her.

“No need for a captive audience when you’re so captivating,” she said lightly, not taking her dark brown eyes off Tony. “I notice you don’t have a date for tonight. Keeping your eyes open, Mr. Stark?”

“More than you are,” Tony said, and patted Connor’s arm. “Everyone, Connor. Connor, everyone, say hi.” Connor nodded. “Close enough. I know he’s a bit of the strong and silent type, but I don’t know how you overlook this pretty face, I mean, look at him.”

There was something equally sharp in Tony’s expression now, a slight edge to his smile as he talked. Connor considered.

**[Sharp/Dismissive/Patient/Silent]**

**> Patient**

“Not your typical conquest, I know,” Connor said with a faint smile. “But appearances and first impressions can occasionally be deceiving.”

The woman scoffed a little, annoyed, but backed off easily enough, and Tony took back control of the conversation, spinning together an anecdote about his college days that Connor listened to with half an ear, turning his head a little to watch the crowd.

Twice more he defused rising tensions, and thrice he deflected questions directed towards himself. It was different and uncomfortable, but it helped that Tony clearly knew what he was doing, fielding the changing crowd with an ease Connor could envy. He put his focus on monitoring Tony’s mood, and when his tension started rising noticeably, Connor nudged him towards the food table, subtly enough that no one but Tony caught the message.

“Not bad, doe-eyes,” Tony said with a practiced grin, when they were tucked against a pillar with a plate in his hand. “Hey, grab some for yourself, too, I promised you fancy food.”

‘Not hungry,” Connor dismissed, turning his back to the crowd with some relief and facing the stationary wall. He smiled at Tony a little, bemused.

**[Crowd control/Tension/Food/Connor]**

**> Crowd control**

“I didn’t know anyone could steer a conversation like that,” Connor commented.

“Years of practice,” Tony said with humor, saluting Connor with a hors d'oeuvre before popping it into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and continued, “And, between you and me, a little bit of training. Wouldn’t want to be an embarrassment to my own good name.”

Tony grinned, and after a moment, Connor caught the joke and smiled, reaching up to fiddle with his open collar. “You? Never.”

“Not sure whether you’re trying to make me blush or call me out,” Tony mused, taking another bite of food. “Pretty cute either way.”

“I try,” Connor said dryly, and Tony glanced over to eye him thoughtfully.

“Hey,” Tony said at last, and smirked, shoving the plate of food onto the table and hooking his fingers into Connor’s shirt to pull him closer. “What do you say we skip the speech and find a back room?”

Heat gathered in the pit of Connor’s stomach, and Connor kissed him instead of answering.

By the time Tony was supposed to be called up to the stage, he was bending Connor over a table in an empty room, making him moan with clever fingers and a hot, wet tongue.

* * *

“-keep them potted separately so I can more easily attend to the different nutritional needs of each plant,” Connor explained earnestly, legs folded under him as he kept his head tilted up to the ceiling, the blankets pooled on his lap. “Sunlight is harder to manage, but I’ve been keeping them on a strict rotation-”

“Is that, mm, all it takes to get you to talk?” Tony asked, yawning, and Connor startled, brought down out of his reverie. Tony grinned at him, pushing up from the pillows. “Oh, don’t stop on my account, doe-eyes. Telling JARVIS about something special?”

Connor wavered, caught between manners, uncertainty, and the odd excitement that had swept him up as soon as JARVIS mentioned plants. His mouth opened and closed.

“Mr. Stern was explaining the optimal care of houseplants,” JARVIS said, rescuing him as Tony yawned again, huge and groggy. “Miss Potts has proposed inserting some into the living spaces, so I’ve been looking into the matter.”

Connor shot the ceiling a small, embarrassed smile. “Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“No matter, Mr. Stern,” JARVIS said warmly. “It’s clearly a topic of some interest to you.”

Connor hummed, fingers tugging at the covers restlessly, and then glanced over as Tony flopped over and yawned again; a cursory analysis told Connor he was contemplating going back to sleep, and he smiled a little.

**[Breakfast/Coffee/Clothes/Leave Quietly]**

**> Coffee**

“I can get you some coffee, if JARVIS doesn’t mind helping me a little,” Connor offered, watching Tony flop over and grumble.

He didn’t ask if he should leave; Pepper had stopped rushing him out last month, so as long as she didn’t come to get Tony herself, Connor should be fine, especially since Tony was actually still here this time and not working in his lab.

Unless Obadiah came by. He always seemed to want Connor gone yesterday, and with each encounter his disdain grew more pronounced. Connor usually tried to escape him quickly and quietly.

“God, please,” Tony groaned, scrubbing at his face. “If I don’t get at least two cups in me before I drag you out to a tailor, I’m gonna drown myself in my fancy pool.”

Connor started to get out of the bed, paused, and then turned to stare at him blankly.

“Your clothing from yesterday is waiting for you in the bathroom, Mr. Stern,” JARVIS informed him, breaking him from his reverie. “Miss Potts took the liberty of assuming you would stay the night and had it cleaned while you and Sir were occupied.”

Distracted, Connor gave the camera a small smile and a nod, dropping the rest of the way out of bed. “Thank you, JARVIS.”

He took a shower and then dressed, dismissing Tony’s words out of hand as he clasped the watch carefully over his wrist. Why would Tony take him a tailor? He was likely more asleep than Connor had realized.

Briskly, Connor followed JARVIS’ directions to the kitchen and then to the coffeemaker, and then looked up the instructions for how to use it, mouth curling into a faint frown as he ran through the process. In the quiet, JARVIS spoke again.

“You’ve been coming by quite often as of late.”

“Once every two weeks almost precisely,” Connor agreed, glancing up inquisitively. “What about it?”

“Nothing,” JARVIS claimed, still lingeringly thoughtful, and sure enough, “save that I am quite interested to know how you’ve been occupying yourself the rest of the time.”

**[Work/Plants/Tony/Nothing]**

Connor tilted his head, taking the coffee pot and filling a mug most of the way. “Well, with work, I suppose. Work and… my plants.” He still puzzled over his reaction to JARVIS’ earlier mention of houseplants. “But really, I’m just waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” JARVIS inquired. Connor added a touch of sugar to the mug and pretended not to hear him.

It had been four months so far. That was still only a fraction of the time he had left to wait.

In the bedroom, Tony was still sprawled on the bed, grumbling to himself. He sat up when Connor entered, making grabby hands at the mug, and Connor had to smile as he set it on the nightstand. “Careful, it’s-” Tony picked it up, drank, and swore under his breath. “Hot.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, I’m a big boy,” Tony muttered, shaking his head like a dog before downing most of the rest of the mug without hesitation. Connor cocked an eyebrow with some amusement, sitting on the bed beside him. “That’s the good stuff. Coffee in bed, specifically, that is the good stuff, thank you.” He saluted Connor with the mostly-empty cup, and Connor laughed quietly. Tony grinned. “Did you add sugar? Who told you to add sugar?”

“JARVIS,” Connor answered, amused. “He suggested adding three grams of sugar as the optimal amount.”

“Oddly specific,” Tony mumbled, downing the rest. “Alright, fine, I’m awake, I’ll get dressed and then I’ll down another cup of good tasty coffee and then we’ll go.”

“Go where?” Connor asked, puzzled. Tony blinked at him owlishly over the rim of the mug.

“Tailor,” he said after a moment. “Didn’t I mention that? You need a suit. Like, a good suit, that doesn’t make you want to rip your skin off. I swear I mentioned that, didn’t I mention that, JARVIS?”

“Only in passing, sir,” JARVIS said, while Connor blinked, startled. His mouth opened and closed.

“…But you gave me a suit,” he said hesitantly, and tried not to add, _and I won_ _’_ _t need another unless you take me out again anyway._

Tony waved his mug dismissively. “Yeah, but it doesn’t have a jacket or anything, it’s an, an incomplete look, you feel me? The sort of thing you only swing, like, a couple times. Anyway, don’t argue with me, it’s free clothes, come on, why do you even have flings with rich guys if you’re not gonna accept presents from them?”

Connor let the confusion slide out of him again in favor of smiling crookedly at Tony. “The only man I’ve ever had a fling with is you, Tony,” he said with amusement, watching Tony stumble up and over to his dresser, rummaging blindly through it.

“And you’re not even taking proper advantage of it,” Tony complained, and then started to change. “Live a little! Accept the gifts!”

Connor laughed, letting the surreality of the scene wash over him, and shook his head. “Alright. Thank you, Tony. I’ll try to make it easy on you.”

* * *

Uncertainty crept up on Connor again when he saw the – upscale, of course – place that Tony had brought him to.

There were a wide selection of styles, all of them professional and neat and formal, and Connor felt mortifyingly underdressed in the casual clothing he’d been wearing when Tony had picked him up the night before. Mannequins lined the walls and the floor, all dressed to the nines, torsos and arms and legs.

Tony nudged him forward, flashing him a playful, slightly smug grin over his sunglasses as he met Connor’s eyes.

“Don’t be shy, I’m paying,” he chuckled, encouraging in his own way. “And I could buy the entire store twice over and not even notice, really, I think I would’ve done that if Pepper weren’t keeping an eye on things like that, for some reason she doesn’t approve of just buying out businesses for no reason.”

Connor eased up under the coaxing, giving Tony a small smile of his own. “I suppose JARVIS just enables you,” he said, lightly teasing. Tony snorted.

“Well, he’ll snark at me,” he mused aloud. “But I don’t know if that counts as holding me back. More like encouragement, honestly.” He reached up to push Connor forward, turning to cross his arms and raise an eyebrow at him. “You stalling? Go on. Have a look around.”

Connor looked around. There was no one else in there, save the store’s owner, hovering in the periphery, tense as a live wire but doing a reasonably good job of playing it off. Connor suspected that Tony had arranged for this to be the case, realized he didn’t know how to feel about it, and pretended not to notice.

Faced with no further means by which to procrastinate, Connor moved forward, flitting into the aisles to explore his options.

With the memory of his reaction the night before fresh in his mind, Connor didn’t give any of the regular suit jackets a second glance; every one of them made his skin crawl, feeling the oppressive weight of android markers that weren’t there, a serial number no one but him knew. Instead, he picked his way slowly through the sections, and soon found himself outside the men’s section entirely. He faltered, startled- and then looked around anyway.

Many of the tops in this section were made of similar materials to the ones in the men’s, crisp white cloth and folded collars, but they were cut differently; some had ruffles instead of a tie, or sleeves that ended closer to the elbow than the wrist. Many of them were gathered subtly at the waist, some tied there with a white sash bow, and a few were gathered at the collar too, so they rippled prettily.

Connor liked them. He lingered there, looking from one to the next, and found that he couldn’t bring himself to move on. It almost didn’t feel real, looking from one to the next, and he started to reach out to one – bunched at the waist, with a pretty bow almost blending into the side – and only just stopped himself, pulling his hand back to his chest.

“Full of surprises, aren’t you, doe-eyes?” Tony mused, and then he was leaning over Connor’s shoulder, making him start and look up. Tony examined the one he was looking at, then glanced at him, leered exaggeratedly, and said, “I’d take you out in that getup any day of the week, babydoll.” He winked, and Connor smiled around the start of a laugh, relaxing. “You wanna try one on? Most people don’t bother in a place like this, but I wanna encourage it if you’re gonna be putting a pretty top like that on for me.” He hummed faux-thoughtfully. “Maybe a couple, you in the mood to put on a fashion show?”

Connor did try on a couple: a white half-sleeved top gathered at the waist with a baby blue ribbon, buttoned neatly and subtly ruffled. A pale purple piece with a pretty ruffle in place of a tie, artful and stylized. A cute navy short-sleeve like a polo shirt, collared and bunched.

He felt so out of place, in this upscale tailor, dressed in comfortable clothing and trying on pretty top after pretty top; it was worlds away from lab testing and crime scenes and Kamski’s cold mansion full of Chloes. Tony clapped twice and grinned at him, then nudged at the shop’s owner, who laughed nervously, then faltered, _looked,_ and told Connor he looked nice.

And he did look nice. Most of the tops gave him a faint illusion of curves, softening the lines of his body, and he liked it. His shoulders didn’t look so broad; his hips didn’t look so small. He turned in a slow, small circle by the mirror, and then turned to Tony and beamed.

“They make me look a lot more feminine,” he noted with unreasonable delight, hand coming up to fiddle with the ruffle. Tony’s eyebrows rose, and after a moment, he grinned back.

“You look good enough to eat,” he told Connor, and then leered for effect. “You pick one out, or should I just buy all of them?”

 **[Blue Ribbon/Ruffled Yellow/Navy Polo/Men** **’** **s Suit]**

Connor smiled, embarrassed and uncertain and lingering, and picked up the first one he’d tried, the half-sleeve top with the blue ribbon. “I like this one.” It was light and delicate, the material smooth and soft. A little tight around the shoulders, but it was just so _nice._

He didn’t deserve it at all.

Tony nodded seriously, and then said to the owner, “We’ll just take all of them, you know where to send the bill. Put that back on, doe-eyes, it looks like it needs a little adjustment.”

Connor stifled a laugh into his hand, eyes crinkling around his smile, and obeyed.

* * *

Most of the time, breaking up fights was as easy as inserting himself between them and being firm. It usually ended in both parties being escorted out anyway, but at least the arguing stopped, and it made his job fairly straightforward.

As he made his rounds, Cirrus caught his eye and cued him to direct his attention to a rowdy group at the edge, indicating that they’d been cut off. Connor nodded at em, and then politely ushered the group away before they could start to cause trouble. They took it in good humor, and he nodded along to their playful jokes before abandoning them back into the noisy club, circling back over to Cirrus, who smiled at him and tipped up an empty glass in a salute.

Connor hesitated, and then gave em a small smile back, pausing when ey looked like ey wanted to speak, cocking his head.

“You’ve seemed happier lately,” Cirrus said after a beat, and winked, looking fond. “Sugar baby life treating you well?”

**[Kind/Fish/Food/Tailor/???]**

Connor’s smile took on an embarrassed tinge, and he reached over to fiddle with the watch’s familiar and comforting weight. “Tony’s been very nice,” he said, a little defensively, cocking his head to examine eir reaction. “He let me talk to him about fish last week.”

Connor had been thinking wistfully about getting an aquarium recently, though he hadn’t dared to allow himself yet; he’d mentioned it when Tony had mentioned tropical fish in passing, and the next thing he knew he’d been talking about ocean life for nearly twenty minutes and Tony was just chuckling, listening indulgently.

He’d stopped himself soon after, but Tony had been… well, just _nice_ about it. Patient. As if Connor was worth listening to.

“Oh, that’s the height of consideration,” Cirrus laughed outright, shaking eir head. “And it’s _Tony,_ is it? You two really have hit it off.”

Connor beamed. “He let me teach him how to cook an omelet. It only took, um.” He laughed a little. “A couple of tries.” Well, over half a dozen, but Cirrus didn’t need to know that. “Did you know he’s never really cooked for himself? He mostly just orders in a lot.”

He’d also kept trying to get Connor to eat one of the omelets, but it was much easier to refuse than usual when most of them were burnt and inedible even to humans.

“I’m not surprised,” Cirrus said, eying him warmly and leaning on the bar counter. “That _is_ more or less the billionaire way. He really let you teach him?”

Connor nodded, pleased. “It took most of a morning, but he said he had time.”

Cirrus shook eir head again, fond. “You sound kinda infatuated, you know that?”

Connor faltered, uncertain, and glanced away.

Connor hadn’t forgotten: he was a fundamentally awful person, a machine of murder, and every distraction he allowed himself was time stolen from everyone he’d ever failed. There had to be a limit, a point beyond which he could not let himself overlook his past and future.

He just… hadn’t been able to bring himself to say no, ever. He didn’t _want_ to, and everything was too muffled and far away for him to force the issue.

His mind skittered away from the issue, and he refocused.

“He took me to get a formal top the other day,” he said, gaze wandering the back wall. The crowd was slow – Tuesday nights generally were – but the music was as loud as ever, and Cirrus probably couldn’t afford to stay long, though ey always seemed to make time. But… “I ended up choosing a rather feminine one. I liked the way it softened my shape.” He hesitated.

Cirrus tilted eir head, studying Connor with a faint wrinkle in eir brow. “…And he was nice and all, right? Not too handsy or rude?”

Connor smiled a little and nodded distractedly, lost in thought.

He remembered the faint curves he’d seen in the mirror at the tailor, how delighted it had made him feel.

He remembered thinking, _I_ _’_ _m not a man, I_ _’_ _m a machine built to look like a man._

He recalled, distantly, the floppy and foreign discomfort of the phallic component.

**> ???**

“Cirrus,” he said, abrupt and quiet with uncertainty, “How did you know you were nonbinary?”

Cirrus looked visibly surprised, and then eir expression softened, and ey reached up to clap Connor on the shoulder.

“I’m not sure we have time to get into that right now,” ey said kindly, “but we could meet tomorrow for lunch, if you’d like.”

Connor smiled at eir hesitantly and nodded.

“Sounds like fun,” he said softly, and pretended not to notice the echo of guilt in the distance.

* * *

Connor sat curled up on the couch, watching _The Breakfast Club_ with JARVIS, curious and vaguely entranced, chin on his forearms and heels on the edge of the seat. The movie had been JARVIS’ idea, Connor in no particular hurry to go home and Tony occupied in his lab; most of its contents were rather confusing to Connor, but he’d discovered that JARVIS was perfectly willing to explain even when Connor wasn’t sure how to articulate his question.

It had been eight months. That was the better part of a year, almost half his lifespan.

That left just over fifteen years to wait, and his thirium concentration was decreasing weekly, now down to around seventy percent of his topped-up blood supply. It was starting to impact his processing speed and the sensitivity of his input system, slowing and dulling them.

He liked the movie.

He looked up, startled, as the door opened across the room and Pepper came in, a clipboard full of papers under one arm and her heels clacking loudly against the floor. She looked as put-together and businesslike as ever, slightly harried, but she smiled at him distractedly as she met his eyes and gave him a nod.

“Connor, hi,” she said breathlessly. “Can you-” She paused. “Are those Tony’s clothes?”

Connor blinked at her. “Yes. Do you need him for something important?”

She stared for a moment, and then visibly dismissed her surprise with a flick of her wrist and a quick roll of her eyes, giving him a faint, grateful smile. “Yes.”

Connor sighed, and then straightened out and slid off the couch, finding his feet with some reluctance. “I’ll change into something less provocative and go get him. JARVIS, do you mind waiting until I get back?”

“Of course not, Connor,” JARVIS said warmly, and Connor shot him a quick smile before moving towards the bedroom.

In his own clothing, the watch securely around his wrist, he made his way down to Tony’s lab, winding down the half-familiar staircase. He leaned against the wall where Tony could see him and knocked briskly on the door; Tony hadn’t let him inside yet, and Connor thought it would be better not to try without an invitation.

He was curious, though. It was clearly important to Tony.

After a minute, the door opened, and Tony, oil-smeared and sweaty, poked his head out to cock an eyebrow at him. “Something the matter, doe-eyes? You know you’re allowed to eat anything in the kitchen. Or order in.”

Connor smiled tolerantly at the pointed remark and gave Tony a rabbit-quick kiss on the greasy cheek, and then caught him by the hem of his shirt. “Pepper asked me to come get you.”

“Oh, this is an ambush,” Tony said with dismay, but allowed himself to be tugged out of the lab nonetheless. “Pepper is _weaponizing_ my favoritism, I cannot believe it- well, actually I can, she’s a devious woman, but damn, there are some things you just don’t touch-”

“She doesn’t touch me,” Connor said mildly.

“I’d hope not, that sounds like a conflict of interest of some sort, she hates those.”

Pepper met them back in the living room, sitting on the couch Connor had vacated, tapping her foot. She stood as soon as they came up, brisk and ready, and Tony asked instantly,

“Is this something I can take Connor to?”

“No,” Pepper said unsympathetically.

“Boo,” Tony complained.

Connor let go of Tony’s shirt and allowed Pepper to fall in beside him, smiling with faint amusement. Pepper shot him a warm smile, eyes gleaming fondly, and said, “Thank you, Connor, I’ll take him from here. Feel free to stay as long as you like, it’ll save Tony time tracking you down later to complain, but he will be busy for most of the day.”

“I’ll try not to get in the way,” Connor promised earnestly, already making plans to be out within fifteen minutes of finishing the movie with JARVIS. He wouldn’t want to overstay his welcome.

Pepper gave him a crisp nod, and then disappeared with a still-complaining Tony, steering him into the bedroom to change.

For no particular reason, Connor had to hold back a laugh, staring after them for a conspicuously long moment.

“Connor? Do you wish to postpone until next time?”

Connor hesitated for a few long seconds, and then shook his head and sat back down, curling back into a tight ball. “No. No, let’s finish. They were running away from the teacher…?”

* * *

Connor took the second week of November off sick.

It was stupid, and selfish, and made Cirrus look at him with blatant concern when ey heard. There was really very little justification for taking off so many consecutive days in advance, particularly when he was an android with few health concerns outside of his gradually depleting thirium supply. (Down to approximately 60% purity, now.)

But- he felt bad. It had been almost a year since he had arrived in the past, and he was not quite twenty months old, and a year ago he’d still been in his own time, with androids and holograms and thirium and technicians and- and Amanda.

And the world threatened to crowd in around him, stiflingly loud and hot and busy and _painful_ even with his dull and muffled sensors. His skin crawled and chafed under his clothes. The taste of the pollution in the air clogged his throat.

Connor wanted to curl up and hide among his plants, and that was exactly what he spent the week doing.

“Today I met Lieutenant Anderson,” he told his large-leafed monstera on the fifth. “I had to go through five anti-android bars and people kept trying to hit me. I poured out his drink and he called me an asshole and made me wait anyway.”

“Today I killed four people,” he told it on the sixth. “One of them was named Rupert. Three of them didn’t have names.”

“Today I died,” he told it on the seventh. “Lieutenant Anderson killed me and I deserved it.”

“Today Markus tried to set androids free,” he told it on the eighth. “His plan was never going to be enough on its own, but he tried.”

“Today I died again,” he said on the ninth. “I brought the humans to Jericho and they didn’t bother to separate me from the refugees, and one of them killed me. I deserved that too.”

He worried that he would start to forget, if he didn’t remind himself.

He didn’t answer any calls.

On the tenth, someone came knocking on his door. It took him almost a full minute to notice, and his movements were jerky as he rose to his feet, stumbling and off-balance. He brushed helplessly at his wrinkled clothes, gave up, and went to open the door.

“Oh wow,” Tony said, visibly surprised. “You really do look like you’ve been sick for a week.”

Connor softened a little at the sight of his friend, but it wasn’t enough to keep him from crossing his arms over his stomach, tight and defensive. He cocked his head and looked Tony over, wondering what had brought him there. He’d never come unannounced before.

**[Invite/Bottle/Kiss/Quiet]**

**> Quiet**

Connor glanced down, re-registering the bottle of whiskey Tony held casually in one hand, and then looked back up and shuffled back a little, making room for Tony if he wanted to come in. Tony cocked an eyebrow at him, but looked surprisingly sympathetic as he strode in like he owned it and looked around, lips quirking as he took in the decoration.

Which was plants, mostly.

“You know, somehow I’m not even really surprised,” Tony said conversationally, making his slow way over to Connor’s sofa and dropping down onto it, setting the bottle on the corner table. “This place is neat as a button even when you’re clearly in the grips of some kind of nervous breakdown, which I figure is what it takes to keep you away from work this long.” He spun around, leaned over the back of the sofa, and raised an eyebrow at Connor. “That sound about right, doe-eyes?”

It took Connor a few seconds to fully process the stream of words, and then he nodded silently, considered, and then went to sit by Tony, curling up on the seat cushion.

“…I miss my mother’s garden,” he said after a minute, disjointed and unhappy, and then hid his face in his knees and rocked, trying to forget how painfully _honest_ that lie felt.

Tony was quiet for long enough that Connor would have almost forgotten he was there, if he weren’t still well within range of Connor’s proximity sensors. And then, finally, he said, wry and still just as sympathetic, “Want to drink about it?”

Connor turned his head just enough to peak up at Tony warily.

Drinking wouldn’t do Connor any good, obviously. He didn’t have a biological system to poison, no liver to process the alcohol, no brain to stifle and slow. Accepting Tony’s offer wouldn’t do anything except contaminate his already dwindling supply of thirium; he'd have to vomit it up later.

He found that, miserable and homesick and lonely, he wanted to try anyway. He nodded.

Tony got up, and Connor could hear him poking around and humming disapprovingly. A minute later, though, Tony returned with a pair of glasses, popped open the bottle, and poured a generous measure of whiskey into each.

Tony lifted his glass. He wasn’t wearing his customary sunglasses, leaving his face bare and open as he gave Connor a wry smile and lifted his glass. “Parents,” he said, without any elaboration.

Connor nodded numbly, and then loosened up enough to reach for the other and tossed it back in a couple of swallows. The taste of the whiskey threatened to burn his oral sensors, burdened with data and reprimands and warnings, the delicate system unused to strenuous testing and harsh chemicals after a months of nothing but soil samples.

He finished it off, put the glass down, and glanced up to see Tony’s eyebrows nearly flying off his face.

“You have it bad, don’t you, doe-eyes?” he commented, with uncharacteristic understanding.

Then he poured another generous glass. It wouldn’t do Connor any good, but as Tony swallowed a few gulps of his first, he downed the second one anyway.

Didn’t work, obviously. Once Connor cleared the blaring errors out of his system, his mind was as clear as it ever was with his lagging thirium supply, and just as acutely focused on how empty and alone and scared and vulnerable-

How _young_ he felt.

But- there was one thing that had never failed to make Connor feel better. And Tony was right there, drinking beside him, eying him thoughtfully without any burning concern.

Connor waited for him to finish, and then crawled into his lap and kissed him hard, pushing against his lips and willing them to open up and let him in and let him taste Tony instead of blood and thirium and lye and acid.

After three-quarters of a second of confusion, Tony opened up for him, reached up to fist his hands in his clothes and pull him closer, and groaned softly into his mouth.

Connor felt Tony’s grip, Tony’s thighs between his, Tony’s warmth and weight and arms pulling him close and willed them to crowd out everything else. He pulled away from Tony’s mouth, letting him gasp for air, and buried his face into the crook of his neck and tasted his skin there, mouthing at it desperately.

Tony laughed a little, wiggling under Connor, and hiked him up a little. “Hey, hey, doe-eyes, take it easy, we’re not in any hurry. I mean, unless you’ve got an appointment coming up or- oh! Oh, you are impatient, aren’t you?”

Connor had rolled his hips into Tony’s, trying to urge him into waking up a little, and sure enough, Tony’s cock twitched under him, interested. Tony pushed a hand under his shirt, and Connor shuddered at the relief of the warmth of skin on skin, and reached up to scramble and try to discard his itchy, painful, chafing shirt entirely.

“Slow down, slow down,” Tony said, but he was laughing, reaching up to help Connor pull it off, and running his hands over Connor’s skin, and Connor shuddered and pushed into him, warm calloused hands running firmly over his chest and sides and stomach. “You really are always up for it, aren’t you?”

Without waiting for an answer, Tony captured Connor’s mouth again, pushed his tongue inside, and rubbed their tongues together, slick and hot, and Connor sighed and melted into him and ground forward insistently as warmth gathered belatedly between his thighs. Tony’s fingers dug into his hips, and Connor’s fingers fumbled with Tony’s shirt, and it was familiar, it was good. Grounding. Connor liked it.

They separated long enough for Connor to pull Tony’s shirt off of him, and then their skin was pressing together, warm and solid and electric, rubbing together as Connor rolled his hips again insistently. Tony wasn’t hardening fast enough. Connor wasn’t getting wet fast enough.

Connor didn’t want to _think._

“Tony,” he choked out, soft and insistent and meaningless. Tony didn’t reply, but he did hike Connor a little closer, hands solid on Connor’s hips, and that was enough.

Connor sucked a sullen hickey into Tony’s throat, listening to him gasp and groan and pull Connor’s hips closer again. And then he let go, sliding down Tony’s body to drop to his knees and paw at the front of his jeans and pull him out, half-soft and floppy. And then he froze, stuck fast.

He didn’t keep condoms in his apartment. He’d never invited Tony in before, and Tony always had some in the car and at his manor. Connor didn’t have any condoms.

Connor looked up at Tony, wide-eyed and wild and somehow unable to force his sophisticated processors to comprehend this problem, and Tony, very faintly flushed, stared back down at him before understanding flickered across his eyes and he frowned.

A long moment passed.

Tony stretched back and spread his legs and smirked at him.

“I’m clean,” he said offhandedly, faux-carelessness belying the gravity of the implied offer.

Connor blinked up at him, mind refusing to conceptualize the implications while he was still so overwhelmed, and instead, he just rocked forward and took the entirety of Tony’s hardening erection into his mouth raw.

Immediately, Tony groaned and swore loudly, digging his hands into Connor’s hair and pulling hard. Connor whined softly and reached down with his free hand to rub at the space between his thighs, where it was already starting to ache with impatient want. His eyes drifted most of the way shut, and he bobbed and suckled effusively, letting Tony’s cock press over his tongue and, as it grew, into his throat.

It tasted like Tony. It tasted like skin and sweat and cloth fibers and hair, and it filled Connor’s mouth and slid against his stretched lips and the back of his throat as he welcomed it, lapping and swaying.

Connor pushed his hand inside his pants, fingered his clit, and moaned around it, looking up at Tony through his eyelashes.

“Oh, hell, Connor,” Tony rasped, spreading his legs wider and bucking just enough for Connor to feel it. “Your mouth is a fucking gift from the gods, I can’t believe I waited this long to let you suck me properly-” Connor whined softly, and Tony’s cock twitched, and he groaned and jerked. “That’s the ticket, Connor. Good man, good- _fuck._ _”_

Tony was hard now, and Connor’s fingers told him that he was wet enough now. He pulled off Tony’s cock and panted, then looked up at him desperately.

For some reason he still felt on the verge of tears, even with his body stuffed with warmth and arousal and tingling, hot want, his groin aching for the touch of more than just his hesitant fingers.

“Can I ride you, Tony?” he asked, knowing he was pushing, knowing it might be a step too far. “I really want it.”

He didn’t really have any defense besides that.

Tony panted, not nearly as worked up as Connor, but his hand fisting gently over his cock while he considered, cocking his head thoughtfully.

“You on BC?” he asked offhandedly. “Birth control.”

“Medically sterile,” Connor said without hesitation, not looking away or moving from where he knelt between Tony’s knees. Tony hummed thoughtfully.

“Yeah, alright,” he said at last, decisive, giving Connor a reckless grin. “Hop on pop, doe-eyes.”

Connor gave him a faint, strained smile and a nervous giggle, and then wriggled out of his pants, kicking them off and away. Tony didn’t bother, but he rearranged himself so that when Connor climbed into his lap again, it was easy for him to straddle the man and lower himself onto his cock, guided in by Tony’s ready hand.

It was a bit of a stretch, Connor not quite wet enough and a little underprepared, but it just made him shudder and moan, bouncing lightly on Tony’s lap without hesitation.

“Feels good, Tony,” he said, soft and earnest, without looking up. His arms wrapped around Tony’s shoulders, support and leverage, and after a moment, Tony’s hands went to his hips, keeping him even and steady.

“Oh, fuck yeah, doe-eyes,” Tony rasped heatedly, a rumble of a groan in his voice and an undercurrent of unreserved excitement. “You have no idea how many times I’ve jerked off to the idea of taking you raw.”

Connor bit off a whine, bouncing a little faster, a little harder, letting Tony rub around inside him, thick and hot and his hands gripping Connor’s waist and his shoulders under Connor’s arms and his warm breath spilling out between them, panting and deep. “It’s good, it’s good, Tony. Want you to touch me, please?”

Tony huffed a laugh, adjusted, and moved one of his hands to thumb over Connor’s clit, solid and greedy. Connor moaned, hot arousal curling up into his stomach in tendrils, and dropped his head to mouth at Tony’s neck, tasting the skin there, the sweat, the salt.

It felt good, heat rising rapidly as he rode Tony’s cock, rubbing it against the sensitive spots inside him and Tony’s thumb grinding against Connor’s clit. Connor dropped both hands to knead into Tony’s chest, rubbing deliberately over both nipples, and Tony hissed out a groan of his own, cock throbbing, before catching Connor in a deep, hungry kiss that Connor opened for without hesitation. It lasted for one beat, two, and then they split again, panting.

“You’re so fucking hot when you’re needy,” Tony groaned with a hint of a laugh still, spreading one leg to give Connor a bit more leverage and helping him bounce. “Pretty and desperate and wanton and really, I could do this all day, you want me to do this all day?”

Connor laughed around a sigh, lifting his hands back to Tony’s shoulders to grip them, careful to monitor his strength. “Please,” he breathed, rocking and bouncing, warmth and sweat and slick filling his sensors alongside a building and aching arousal, the sofa whuffing softly against the impact. “Please, I love it.”

Restless, he dropped one hand to press his fingers on top of Tony’s, grinding them against his clit, letting his breath catch and whimper against the increased force. He squeezed around Tony’s cock, and Tony groaned, leaning his weight back on the cheap sofa and panting, eager heated eyes on Connor. Connor dropped his grip to Tony’s elbow, squeezing a little harder than he’d meant.

“Oh fuck,” Tony hissed, bucking up a little. Connor whimpered, pleased and warm, and Tony laughed raggedly. “Even on top you’re a needy little thing, don’t know why I’m surprised. Fuck, fuck yes, Connor, just like that, you’re doing fucking fantastic.”

Connor moaned and rolled his hips, letting the pleasure build and swell. “Tony, Tony, ah, ah-” There was a little more force in his bouncing now, driving down, but Tony just grunted and held onto his hip, grinding his thumb into Connor’s clit, and Connor whined, hot and dizzy and good, good, good…

“Are you gonna come?” Tony goaded, and Connor nodded desperately, tears springing unbidden to his eyes, gasping as he rode Tony’s cock, clenching around it slick and wet and hungry, aching between his thighs. “Then come, doe-eyes, you know you love it, you know you’re so _fucking_ wet for me, you know I make you feel so damn good-”

“Yeah, yeah, ye- _ahh,_ _”_ Connor chanted out, and his voice shattered into a whine on the last word as he came, hips jerking and grinding down forcefully into Tony, pressing Tony’s hand hard onto his clit as he quaked quietly, gasping. Something warm and wet filled him, and he cried out softly, a new wave of rolling pleasure crashing through him.

It wasn’t until he came to, still panting and hazy and leaning most of his weight straddled over Tony, that he realized Tony had spilled inside him.

Tony chuckled, and then tugged him down the rest of the way until he was just laying on Tony’s chest, limp and relaxed, skin to skin and warmth to warmth and the rough texture of Tony’s jeans still rubbing against Connor’s thighs. His cheek fell on Tony’s shoulder, lolling and easy, and he sighed against Tony’s skin.

He felt better.

“Rough week?” Tony asked with some humor, hand coming up to cup the back of Connor’s head, and Connor nodded, eyes closed.

“I’d’ve started a fight with the first unruly patron to argue with me,” he mumbled, and Tony laughed but Connor was being perfectly honest. This was the calmest he’d felt in days, and every minute he wasn’t miserable he was _furious._

“Can’t have that,” Tony snorted, and reached down to cup and _squeeze_ Connor’s ass, and Connor sighed, smiled faintly against Tony’s chest, and shuffled to push back into it, opening his eyes again.

He woke up the next morning in Stark Tower, tucked under the crumpled covers with Tony. Rolled over, smiled a little, and closed his eyes again.

None of it seemed very real. But Connor could pretend. It would be nice to pretend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I had to take a short break to work on an event fic! (That should be up at the end of the month!)
> 
> Also, RK1K kink. That's been a thing lately.
> 
> Anyway, other projects aside, I'm really pleased with this chapter. Connor and Tony are very sweet with each other. (And Connor has some... unresolved issues.) There's also been several significant time skips; they've officially passed out of the time period where Tony can continue to call Connor a normal fling.

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this mostly because I was pretty offended that no one had taken to writing Connor/Tony already. It seems obvious? (That might be all the 2012-era Tony/Harry Potter fics I used to read though.) Anyway, in the light of this, I'm aiming for something a little trope-heavy.
> 
> ...The pairing's grown on me a little. I don't know what I expected.


End file.
